


Into the Wood

by Raicheru



Series: The Wood [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: AU- Modern Setting Mixed with Canon Fantasy Setting, Alternate Character Origins, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Book/Show/and Game Lore, Canon Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Destiny, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier-Centric, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, No Beta, OOC Behavior based on Alternate Character Origins, Playing Fast and Loose with Canon Geography, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Some angst, We Die with Dignity and Typos, a lot of denial, mild pining, tropetastic, “Kidnap the Bard” Newsletter (Deluxe Edition)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 100,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: Hundreds of years ago, the Conjunction of the Spheres combined many worlds into one.  Where once there was modern technology across the land, now there were wide expanses of magic and monsters winding in between which came to be known as the Wood.Jaskier was born in Lettenhove, one of the last Modern Cities left.  He'd only crossed the border once as a child, but he knew his destiny lay in the Old Cities.  He was meant to be a troubadour and a poet, a singer of renown.But nobody went into the Wood without an armed escort.  Or maybe a Witcher, if you believed the stories.  Jaskier couldn't afford to travel with a caravan and nobody had seen a Witcher in decades, so he goes on his own and is surprised to run into a cat eyed legend his first day.  Despite the man trying to get rid of him almost immediately, their paths soon cross again and Geralt becomes Jaskier's reluctant bodyguard.  It doesn't take Jaskier long to realize that he doesn't know himself as well as he thought, and his music quickly develops from a hobby turned profession into an unexpected talent.If only he knew how to use it.AU with modern technology- takes place mostly in canon fantasy setting.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Wood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794649
Comments: 370
Kudos: 579





	1. Into the Wood

**Author's Note:**

> I'm referencing the Netflix interactive map a lot for place names and locations, but I may take liberties or I may just be inaccurate about directions and/or travel times. For the purpose of this story, Lettenhove is a city in the far north in Kovir above Creyden. (After debating with myself and feeling like I put it in the wrong place, I've come to realize Lettenhove is more likely a family name and not a place. Jaskier mentions the Lettenhoves in the book “Lady of the Lake” when he's defending his pedigree in regards to a relationship. *shrugs* Oh well. In longstanding fanfiction tradition, I'm playing with canon to make it do what I want.)
> 
> I'm going to aknowledge right now that this is indulgent and tropetastic like most of my writing because I write what I like the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! 10,000 hits! 
> 
> Thank you so much for coming in to read!

When the Conjunction of the Spheres combined many worlds into one, everything fell apart. Electronics and machines stopped working, planes fell from the sky, and glass towers crumbled to glittering piles of steel and dust. Nobody knew how it happened or how to reverse it. One day there was technology and progress and the next saw the rise of Magic in the world. And the growth of the Wood. 

As soon as it had come, it was over. The planet continued to spin and hundreds of years passed. Those who adapted thrived. Those who refused. . . died. 

Julian clutched the lute to his chest and as he stared into the darkness of the trees. It was mid morning, but the gloom beneath the leaves left the road in shadow. The beaten dirt track trailed off into the darkness before turning around a corner and out of sight. He wished he had his phone, or at least a flashlight. But the the Wood and the magic within would eat anything made out of modern manufactured materials until it crumbled to dust. Only natural materials made with centuries' old technology could survive. Nobody was sure why. 

His apartment in Lettenhove had indoor plumbing and electricity. He'd watched one of his favorite movies last night on his laptop before going to bed on the box spring mattress in his bedroom. His car had just enough gas to make it to the store and back for one last supply run before setting out today. Julian always thought he'd been born in the wrong century. Or perhaps the wrong world. As much as he enjoyed modern technology, he used candles more often than light bulbs and preferred baths to showers. When he was young, he liked to pretend that he lived in the Old Cities. When the original Modern Cities came crashing down during the Conjunction, they were rebuilt using ancient techniques with brick and timber instead of steel and glass. The older the original city, the easier it had been to restore to its ancient glory. 

Julian's pack hung heavily on his shoulders. He'd been planning this trip for years and he'd spent last night feeling giddy with excitement over his grand journey. If he was honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he'd been planning this his whole life. But he couldn't quite take those last few steps. He'd visited the Old Cities once when he was a small child. His mother had taken him to see her homeland and they'd traveled with a large caravan that had hired an armed escort. It was safer to travel in groups through the Wood and there was no part of the trip where he hadn't been surrounded by people. Even though he knew the way, it was suddenly a far scarier prospect now that he was staring into the trees by himself. He felt the weight of the silver knife in his left boot and wondered if it would be enough.

He wanted a life of adventure, of singing and performing for the people. He was a born storyteller, he knew it. But the internet wasn't interested in ballads or tales of heroic deeds. Jaskier wasn't quite confident enough to record video of himself singing. He didn't dare risk someone recognizing him, or tracking him down to harass him in person. But he'd recorded some of his songs and uploaded the audio files. His posts rarely got any traffic beyond bored trolls that filled his comments with misery. Nothing he did seemed to matter to anyone. Now real trolls, the ones with thick, rocky skin and big teeth to break bone. Those would be definitely be worth singing about. Julian needed to go into the magical parts of the world where the Wood grew wild to experience things as they were meant to be. But there was just one problem.

Nobody went into the Wood alone without a Witcher. 

But Witchers were the things of stories these days. Nobody had seen one in this part of the world in more than a decade. They were warriors created after the Conjunction to rid the world of monsters so that men would be able to thrive again. Some said they were meant to be guides to lead people safely through the Wood, but nobody could agree on that. Julian didn't know anybody who'd ever met one personally. At this point, people in modern parts of the world were starting to think they were just myths. Those were the people who never ventured out of their comfortable lives. They'd never sat around a campfire at night under the trees or ridden a horse because it was still the best way to travel between the Old Cities over land. They'd never felt the wild brush of wind across their cheeks that carried the scent of rain and grass. And magic. The memory of those sensations made him shiver in anticipation. He desperately wanted to feel that way again.

The hell with it. Julian took a deep breath and took his first step over the border and felt the prickle of magic over his skin as he passed through to the other side. He paused and waited, surprised by the sensation. In all his research, nobody had ever mentioned that. But nothing happened. No monster jumped out of the bushes. He didn't spontaneously combust. A sudden giggle bubbled up out of his throat. Gods, was he really that nervous? 

It was the middle of the morning. It wouldn't take him more than a few hours on foot to make it to Badger's Ridge, the first village on this particular road through the Wood. What was he afraid of? Monsters were real. He knew that. But there hadn't been any sightings or confirmed reports in this area for years since it was so close to the border. They were generally treated as children's stories. Julian shook himself. He'd never have his own stories to tell if he didn't get started on his journey.

Setting off at a brisk pace, he breathed in the forest air and took a breath to sing. He went through some scales to warm up before tasting the words of an old standby, the first song he'd learned to play on his own. It was a tale of Knight and a Princess and how they fell in love. His mother used to sing it to him as a child. He felt her love in his heart with every word and he smiled. With every step, he felt more like himself. He was leaving Julian Pankratz behind. 

Jaskier the Bard had finally arrived.

Two hours later, Jaskier cursed the cobbler who'd sold him his woefully inadequate boots. He was sitting on a fallen log by the side of the road rubbing his sore feet. They didn't have anything in his size and there was no way he could afford to have anything adjusted or custom made. So he'd bought what was available and put on two extra pairs of socks. Apparently, it wasn't enough to prevent the sores and blisters that were quickly forming in multiple places. So much for the glamour of travel. 

Huffing out an irritable breath, he tugged the boots back on and got to his feet again. As much as it hurt to go on, he was halfway there. There was no way he could stay here, and he sure as hell wasn't going back now. Not after he'd quit his job. His boss had actually laughed in his face when he told him his plans. That hurt more than he thought it would. Jaskier did his best not to let the opinions of others bother him, but he'd considered Travis a friend. Being dismissed so readily had caught him by surprise. Having the other man turn his back and casually say goodbye like Jaskier was going to his death had been a bit much. 

Slinging the lute over his shoulder again, he continued down the road. Despite the a pain in his feet, he was relatively at peace. He truly did love the woods and being on the road. In the shade of the leaves with dappled patches of sunshine dancing in the dust, he listened to the song of birds, the scurry of small animals, and the crack of breaking branches. He paused at the last sound. He heard the bushes rustle again and it didn't sound like the wind.

“Anyone there?” Jaskier scanned the bushes. He was very aware of the sudden lack of birdsong. It had become ominously quiet. The sound of a snapping twig jerked his attention to a thicket of small trees on the left side of the road. “Helloooo.” 

A low growl was the only response. He turned back to the road quickly and started walking again. Maybe it would go away. Jaskier rolled his eyes. Sure it would. His steps quickened as sweat beaded on his forehead. When he heard a guttural bark behind him, he broke into a run. 

Daring a glance back, he saw a wolf darting across a patch of dead leaves in pursuit. No, not a wolf. A Warg. It was larger and much more menacing looking than an ordinary wolf. A second one joined it. Jaskier heaved a shuddering breath and picked up the pace. When he turned his attention back to the road, he had to scramble suddenly to the side so he wouldn't run into the other two beasts that broke out of the bushes ahead of him. Jaskier let out a surprised scream and headed for the nearest tree. Wargs couldn't climb trees, right? He scrambled up the tree, the rough bark scraping his palms. The lumpy trunk had decent hand holds, but his feet slipped in his panic. If he could just make it to a higher branch, he might be able to make it away. 

With a growling snarl, one of the Wargs leaped at him and caught his left foot. Sharp fangs sank through the thin leather and socks to bite into his skin making him cry out in pain. Kicking down in a panic, he shook the animal and the boot off before continuing to climb. The Warg barked fiercely and leaped again only to fall short of where Jaskier had found a perch about ten feet up. His breathing rasped in his throat and he realized with dismay that his lute lay on the ground beneath him. All four beasts sniffed at the base of the tree and howled up at him in frustration. One of them ranged around the other side of the tree where he couldn't see. A sharp whine sounded before cutting off suddenly. 

A shadow whirled out of the trees, flashing silver in the light filtering through the shadows. One of the Wargs fell with it's side split open. Jaskier swallowed hard and looked away. The third joined it before the fourth took off into the underbrush. The shadow took off after it and a moment later the forest was silent again. After a few tense moments, birdsong once again twittered through the leaves. It was as if the forest had held its breath and was just now daring to breathe again. Jaskier slumped where he sat, his whole body shaking as adrenaline drained away and left him feeling jittery and hollow. He didn't dare move when the shadow returned. 

It was a man in dark studded armor with a sword sheathed at his back. His snow white hair was pulled back from his face and it feathered down over his shoulders. Jaskier stared at him and hoped he'd move on, holding his breath to keep quiet. If only he could hide the pounding of his thundering heart. As if hearing his thoughts, the man turned his gaze upward, his golden cat eyes watching him. Holy Gods, it was a Witcher! An honest to goodness legend in the flesh. He looked annoyed. 

“Um, hello there.” Jaskier waved at him as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree, trying to make it appear casual, like he climbed trees for fun everyday. “Lovely day, isn't it?”

The other man grunted and turned away, walking away without a word. Rude. Jaskier grabbed onto his branch and swung down a little faster than he intended. He landed on his left foot and flopped gracelessly onto the ground. For the first time, he realized that his foot burned like fire and it wasn't the blisters. His sock was torn and bloody and the wounds were bleeding sluggishly. Hissing in a breath, he jammed his foot back into his torn, blood stained boot. The knife had fallen out and he didn't see it anywhere. It must be buried in the leaves, but he didn't have time to look for it. This was a once in a lifetime chance. He scrambled to his feet and snatched up his lute to follow the Witcher. 

“Wait!” he called, trying to get the man's attention. This wasn't just any Witcher. Memories of stories he'd heard as a child surfaced in a rush. White hair, yellow eyes like a cat. He hurried forward at a hobbling run to catch up to him. “You're Geralt of Rivia,” he said, his voice breathy with awe. 

The other man paused and turned his head slightly. “Go back to where you came from,” he growled before starting off again. The abrupt dismissal made Jaskier huff an indignant breath.

“Why would I leave, when you're here? This is where I belong.” He pressed his lips together tightly and clutched at his lute as the other man turned back toward him, his gaze pinning him like a laser. “I mean,” Jaskier swallowed hard. He hadn't meant to say it quite like that. “You're a Witcher. I could write a million songs about you.”

“I don't do anything worth singing about,” the Witcher growled. Gosh, he certainly did that a lot. “Move along,” he said.

Jaskier shook his head and grinned. He knew he should be afraid, but all he felt was excited. “On the contrary. You smell of death and and destiny, heroics and heartbreak. What else is worth singing about?”

The other man shook his head and turned away, stalking off without another word. There was no way Jaskier was going to let him out of his sight. He'd hoped to find the stuff stories were made of and he'd found a goldmine on his first try. He hissed in pain again. Every step felt like daggers stabbing into his foot. 

“I'm just going to keep following you,” he said, his voice starting to get breathy with the effort of hobbling through the pain. 

“No, you'll just die out here in the woods.” The other man whistled and a horse came obediently trotting out of the trees. There was no way Jaskier could keep up if he mounted and rode away.

“Why would you bother saving me if you're just going to leave me out her to die anyway?” 

“Had a contract for the Wargs. Saving your idiot ass was just a coincidence.”

Jaskier bristled. He couldn't quite argue with the idiocy of traveling alone, but it was quite another thing to have it pointed out by someone else. “Is that why you're called the Butcher of Blaviken? Because you just kill things and leave?” 

He regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take it back. But the other man just vaulted easily into the saddle and started riding away. Jaskier tried to follow but his bad foot caught on a buried root, twisting his ankle. A sharp cry escaped him as he sprawled in the leaves, his lute flying out of his hands again. This was going great so far. He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the overhanging branches above him. His foot and ankle were both now a fiery ball of agony. There was no way he was walking anywhere now and he could hear the sound of hoof beats getting farther away by the minute. He lay there for a while wondering if this was the end.

“Fuck,” he muttered before snagging the strap of the lute and dragging it closer. He pulled the instrument out and lay it on his chest. If he was going to die out here, he might as well go out singing. It was a little awkward with his arms at this angle, but he strummed a few stray cords and hummed along with them, his eyes closed. He didn't really have any words, it was just sound. But it felt good to play and it eased some of his frustration. His fingers danced over the strings almost of their own volition and the stabbing pain in his foot and ankle dulled to a much lighter throb. Jaskier's heart was at ease again, the music a balm to his frayed nerves.

His hands stilled when a shadow fell over his face. He hadn't even heard anything coming. Something brushed at his head and a whuffle of breath blew over his face. He blinked up to see the Witcher's horse lipping at his hair. Her rider was a glowering thundercloud of annoyance in the saddle. Ignoring him, Jaskier reached up to gently brush the horse's nose with his fingers. 

“Well hello, my Lady.” He could see the Witcher trying to guide her away back the way he came, but she just turned her head and nipped at his knee. 

“Fine,” the Witcher huffed, apparently giving up. Dismounting, he came over and leaned down to grip the collar of Jaskier's doublet and drag him roughly to his feet. 

“Hey! A little warning, if you please. I'm not a rag doll.” He stumbled and hooked his right arm over the other man's shoulder as his ankle gave up on him. The fingers of his other hand clenched tightly around the neck of his lute so he wouldn't drop it. He ended up pressed against the Witcher's armored chest and he tried not to flinch as the glare darkened. Jaskier swallowed and stared up at him for a few moments. “Thank you for coming back,” he said quietly.

“Not my idea. Thank Roach,” the other man grumbled. 

“Roach? Really? Of all the names for such a love lady, I hardly think- Whooa!”

Jaskier found himself suddenly swung around and hefted up into the saddle like he didn't weigh anything. He clutched at the saddle horn and dropped his instrument, but the Witcher caught it easily. He looped the strap through the saddle bags and grabbed the reins. But he started leading horse back towards the boarder at a steady walk.

“Excuse me, my dear Witcher,” Jaskier said, gathering his nerve and preparing himself for another lethal glare. “But I'm not going this way. I'm headed to Badger's Ridge.” 

“No, you're going back home before you die out here.” 

“I should think that's my decision,” Jaskier said. He tried directing the horse with his knees, but she turned her head and gave him a look that said she wasn't above biting him as well. He patted her neck cautiously and relaxed in the saddle. Sighing, he glared at the back of the Witcher's head. “What makes you think that I'm not from the village?” 

“Badly fitting clothes made of modern fabrics, ill fitting boots, and not enough brains to travel with a caravan. You're definitely from across the border. Probably Lettenhove with that accent.” The Witcher didn't even bother looking at him as he made this assessment. Jaskier squared his shoulders and felt a seam in his shirt start to give way. He could have sworn he heard the other man snort with bitter amusement. 

He couldn't go back. He didn't want to be Julian the black sheep or Julian the failure again. There was nothing for him in Lettenhove but sadness and depression. All of the reasons he came here threatened to choke him. He drew himself up in the saddle, ignoring the sudden sting of tears that he refused to let fall.

“Regardless of where I may have come from, I'm not going back. Thank you for your help, but I think I'll take my chances.” Swinging his leg over the saddle, he lowered himself down to the ground and tried to ignore throbbing of his foot and ankle. But before he could get his lute from the saddle he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The Witcher was making a strange pattern with his fingers.

“Sleep.” The gravely command resonated somewhere deep inside him. The last thing Jaskier remembered was strong arms catching him as his legs gave way and his consciousness faded.


	2. Home Again, Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for tuning in for chapter two. This is a bit of a slow starter but it will pick up in a bit.

Jaskier came to wakefulness slowly. He was warm and comfortable and he wanted to linger in the half asleep state as long as possible. He wondered idly if he'd be late for work but wasn't entirely sure he cared. Taking a few moments to assess, he tried to remember what he'd been doing last night. He didn't remember going to bed but he obviously had. His head was swimming a bit so he moved slowly to swing his legs around and sat on the edge of the mattress. Breathing deeply through his nose and letting it slowly out through his his mouth, he looked around his room. 

The closet door was still open showing a few brightly colored shirts. He'd have to do laundry soon. His guitar was in its stand in the corner, and his laptop was on the bedside table where he'd left it. Looking down at his feet, he blinked at the bandage wrapped securely around his left foot and ankle. He held up his foot and wiggled his toes experimentally. Whatever had happened, at least they still worked. His head felt fuzzy and it was hard to think. He plucked at the linen shirt and breaches he was wearing and wasn't entirely sure where they'd come from. They were hardly his usual attire. The seam of the left shoulder was split, the threads almost dissolved. Weird.

Standing carefully, he found that there was some soreness in his foot, but it wasn't unbearable. Good to know. His stomach complained loudly and he grabbed his laptop before shuffling out to the kitchen to find something to eat. Inside the fridge, there was a small bottle of milk, a salad, and a sandwich. But nothing else. Essi, his upstairs neighbor, must have stopped by and took pity on him again. When was the last time he'd been to the shop? He settled at the small kitchen table with the sandwich and a large glass of water. 

A quick search on internet showed him that there had only been a couple more hits on his posts. Jaskier stared at the numbers glumly and considered taking them down for the fiftieth time. His music was missing something, but he wasn't sure what it was. He didn't really enjoy embodying the starving artist cliché. Picking up his lute from where it rested against the table, he was about to strum when his phone trilled. Why would his cousin Ferrant be calling him? He glanced at the screen. And why would he call him seven times over the last two days? They hadn't spoken in weeks. Mentally preparing himself for a most likely unpleasant conversation, he put in an earbud and answered.

“Hello, Cousin. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, trying to sound pleasantly bored as he leaned back in his seat and propped his feet up on the other chair. 

“Cut the gallantry crap, Julian. What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“You'll have to remind me. What did I do to offend our illustrious family this time?” He wasn't on good terms with any of them. His apple had fallen so far from the tree, he was fairly certain it was an orange. 

“You could have been killed wandering off into the Wood alone like that.” 

The Wood? He'd always wanted to go there but hadn't quite worked up the nerve yet. He strummed his fingers across the lute's strings and felt the chords steady him. His mind cleared and he felt more awake. A tingling from his foot brought memories floating to the surface. The Wood, the Wargs. . .The Witcher. 

“Are you listening, Julian?” Ferrant sounded pissed. 

“Not really,” he said, not bothering to be polite. They could usually only manage to be civil for five minutes at a time most days. Ferrant wasn't even trying today. Jaskier kept strumming, his fingers dancing over the strings in patterns that tickled the edge of his awareness. Every memory was filled with golden cat eyes and snow white hair. The was a huff on the other end of the line. 

“Would you stop playing that stupid thing for five minutes and listen to me?”

“Noooope.” Jaskier started playing louder. The music was comforting and if Ferrant was annoyed, that was just a bonus. 

“I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were a gods damned changeling,” the other man muttered. “Do you remember anything?”

“Not really,” he lied. He wasn't interested in sharing. The Witcher had apparently carried him across the border and Ferrant would try to have him arrested for kidnapping or some other trumped up charge. Blaviken had been forty years ago and Geralt of Rivia had been acquitted of all charges, but his cousin hated magic and he'd probably find a way to bring it up and use it to his advantage somehow. 

But still, Jaskier was curious about what had happened himself. While he remembered his short trip in the Wood, he had no idea what happened after he'd been forcibly put to sleep. He pursed his lips in annoyance. That was a low blow. He'd have to tell Geralt what he thought of that when he saw him again. At least he liked to think it was 'when' instead of in 'if.'

“Would you care to fill in the blanks for me, dear Cousin? It's all a bit of a blur.”

“Well,” the other man huffed, obviously scandalized by something. “Someone called the police station from one of the border phones and told them to come get you. You were laying on a park bench like some wastrel vagrant sleeping off a hangover. You're lucky Doldir was on border duty or the media might have gotten a hold of the story. Can you imagine?”

“Perish the thought,” Jaskier muttered as he rolled his eyes. Oh, heavens forbid the media spoke a single word that Ferrant didn't dictate for them. 

“You may not care about the family name,” Ferrant spat over the phone. “But some of us are loyal and do our best to protect the Pankratz brand.”

That explained why he'd been found unconscious outside the Wood but wasn't in a hospital. Ferrant probably had his pocket policeman bring him home. Jaskier shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not liking the thought of the slithery cop in his apartment. He felt a sudden need to sanitize the place. He really didn't like any of Ferrant's men. He turned his ankle thoughtfully, and studied the bandage on his foot again. That definitely hadn't been Doldir. It was hard to imagine the ham-handed brute wrapping the strips of fabric that neatly or caring enough to do so in the first place.

“It's bad enough that you live in that hovel in the worst part of town,” Ferrant continued.

“It's not a hovel, you dick.” There was an offended sniff and then the line went silent. Well. If Jaskier had known one little insult would have made him hang up, he would have thrown one out there five minutes ago. “And good day to you too, dear Cousin,” he said with a discordant pluck of strings. 

He sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the city. The music of human habitation didn't bother him. He could hear a jovial shouted conversation from outside, the baby upstairs crying for attention, and Essi's cat scratching at his door. Jaskier turned as the door opened and a fat gray cat wriggled its way through the opening. 

“Some policeman, eh Pearl? That fat sack Doldir didn't even bother to lock my door before he left.” 

The cat meowed and stood up on its hind legs to place its paws on his thigh. Jaskier scratched its furry head before strumming the lute again. The cat blinked at him and purred, hopping into his lap and trying to strop its face on the strings. 

“No, it's not yours,” he laughed. The next few minutes were spent strumming idle melodies while Pearl the cat rubbed her head against the back of his hand as he played. Her purr rumbled against him and he smiled. “Well, at least someone has good musical taste.” 

Actually, the music was coming much more easily to him than it usually did. He was a well practiced player, but his fingers had never danced so well over guitar strings as they did over the lute. He hadn't even been playing it that long. Now he just needed something to sing about.

“Pearl?” A female voiced called from the hallway.

“In here Essi,” Jaskier called. The door opened all the way and a pretty blonde stepped in bringing the citrus scent of verbena with her. 

“There you are. I swear that cat likes being everywhere but home.” 

“Good afternoon, Darling Essi.” Jaskier smiled at her and continued strumming. She raised a brow.

“A lute? You really do have anachronistic tastes.” 

“My heart yearns for the music of earlier days. Of ancient times and older ways.” 

“Are you sure you don't want to talk to my producer?” 

Jaskier's smile faltered and he sighed. It was a long drawn out sound tinged with wistful regret. This was a long standing discussion between the two of them. They'd met two years ago in school when they were both starting out as musicians, and she'd become the little sister he'd never had. Essi found a good manager and an even better producer. So far, she'd released a successful album and a collection of published poetry. Why she was still living here, he'd never know. She could afford better and she was sure to continue finding success. As much as he'd defended this place to his cousin, it really wasn't the best. 

She had offered several times to help him get started with his own music career, but Jaskier had always refused. He was grateful, but recorded music wasn't something he was interested in. The internet posts had been a desperate whim when he'd wanted to share something and now he was too stubborn to take them down. The heart of the music was always lost when it was recorded and played back. He yearned to perform in front of a live audience, but not on open mic nights in cheap bars. He dreamed of smokey taverns lit by lanterns and warms hearths, with people coming in from out of the fields and weary travelers stopping for an ale. Where news was passed through song and word of mouth He wasn't going to find that here in the Modern world where everything was cold and electronic.

“I'm sure,” he said gently. “You know I appreciate the offer. I really do.”

“I know.” Her eyes landed on the bandages. “Are you alright?” She came over as he set down the lute and nudged the cat down onto the floor. She knelt beside him and unwrapped the bandages with careful fingers so she could examine the wounds. “Hm. These look mostly healed.”

Weird. What should have been scabbed-over rips in his flesh looked more like fresh, pink scars. It had only been two days according to the date on his phone.

“Are these teeth marks?” She shifted her gaze from lute and pack to his clothing that was starting to unravel. Her large, blue eyes widened. “You went into the Wood, didn't you? By yourself, no doubt. You could have died!”

“So I've been told,” he muttered as he gently pulled his foot out of her grasp and sat up. “It's fine. I'm fine.”

He just had to figure out what to do now. His finances were a bit less than stellar, and he'd spent most of his meager savings on the lute. Not to mention the clothes that were literally getting ready to fall off of him. Natural fibers were expensive in the modern world. Artificial and manufactured fibers were much cheaper. There was no way he'd be able to afford something that was actually made in the Old Cities. Imports were a huge, but specialized business. Only the wealthy could afford to buy natural products. The rest of the Modern world had to settle for cheap imitations that were nearly always inferior.

“You're always 'fine' Julian. But you're not always safe with the choices you keep making.” She rested her tiny fingers on his knee. “I just want. . .”

“I know.” He rested his hand on hers. “But I don't belong here. I really don't. I've felt so out of place for so long. I just need. . .” He trailed off in a long, drawn out sigh. She'd heard all of this before.

Essi held his gaze with compassion and just a bit of pity which wasn't like her. But he knew she was worried about him because she cared about him and not his family name. A dozen repeated conversations floated in the air between them, but neither one said a word. After a few moments, she bit her lip, like she was lost in thought. And then she suddenly scooped up the cat and headed to the door. But before she left, she paused in the doorway. 

“I'm playing a set at the Kingfisher tonight. Will you be there?”

“Of course.” 

She nodded and headed back upstairs. It had been a while since he'd seen her play and he didn't have anywhere else to be. He needed to do a little more planning before he went into the Wood again. The idea of getting another crap job made him feel queasy, but money was still the deciding factor and he refused to touch his trust fund. He'd figure something out.

*******

Later that evening, Jaskier stepped into the Kingfisher bar wearing dark pants and a green silk shirt that had been a gift from Essi on his last birthday. He glanced around at the Friday night crowd. There were more people than usual, probably because of Essi, and he stopped at the bar to grab a beer before settling in a seat at a small table off to one side. The Kingfisher was a small, intimate venue, but it got a fair share of acts from across the cities. It was a rare crossroads between wealthy and poor parts of the city, a neutral ground where all kinds of people mingled and shared their love of good music. Right now, a man and a woman were onstage singing about unrequited longing. She played a small harp while he beat a drum in time to their song. They were pretty good and when they finished, he applauded with the rest of the crowd.

He rotated his left foot carefully, trying to ease the tingling that had persisted all afternoon even after he'd taken a bath and washed off the healing salve that had been applied to the wound. At first, he thought he might be having some sort of allergic reaction, but there was no swelling or rash. Whatever it was had worked wonders on the Warg bite. The scars would be pale and barely noticeable when it had fully healed. 

Essi took the stage and the audience applauded as she settled on the stool with her guitar. She scanned the crowd and found his eyes, her face solemn, yet kind as always. As the opening notes of 'Gentle Wanderer' floated across the air, he laughed a little. Of course. It was a lilting story of a young man who wandered the wilds in search of himself. Jaskier recognized it for the gentle chastisement it was. By the end of the song, the man was old and weary, having spent his whole life chasing a dream that didn't exist. It was maudlin and sweet, and one of her best songs. He'd always had a snaking suspicion that it was about him. 

“I'd like to play something new for you tonight,” she said. The crowd murmured in anticipation. Being the first to hear an Essi Daven original would be an event to brag about.

The melody started out wistful and full of regret. A loving friend, supportive and loving, mourning the loss of paths that once intertwined and were now diverging. But the tone changed into something brighter, more hopeful. It became a wish for safety and prosperity, for love and happiness. And if the path became too painful, there would always be a home to return to. Jaskier's eyes prickled with tears and he sniffed. After the last note faded, he gave Essi a watery smile and blew her a kiss. She reached out and closed her fingers before putting her hand over her heart. A single tear slipped down her cheek. The song was a blessing and a promise. No matter what he chose, she would always welcome him back. 

Jaskier knocked back the rest of his beer and got up to leave. There was no way he'd be able to sit through the rest of her set without openly sobbing and he didn't feel like ugly crying in public tonight. Essi would understand.

Heading outside, he decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. It was a clear night and the stars would have been shining, but the glow of light pollution from the city blocked them all out. He couldn't wait to go back into the Wood so he could see the twinkling lights his mother had showed him as a child. Jaskier was so busy looking up, that he didn't see the two men moving up behind him until they grabbed him and dragged him into an alley between two buildings. He let out a surprised squawk and tried to twist out of their grip.

“Get off!” A burst of pain exploded in Jaskier's skull as he was shoved back against the wall and his head rapped against the concrete. An arm pressed against his throat, threatening to cut off his air as he felt hands rifling through this pockets. He tried to bat them away, but at the arm at his throat pressed in tighter. 

“Come on,” one of them hissed. “Before the watchmen come through.”

“It has to look like a mugging,” the other said. 

Jaskier struggled to clear his head, but a knife was brandished in his face and he felt the cold grip of fear steal his breath. 

“W-wait.” He snapped his eyes shut. “I didn't see your faces. Take whatever you want. You can just leave me here. I w-won't say anything.” Jaskier hated the quaver of his voice but couldn't quite quell the fear. 

“It'll be quick.” The arm on his throat pressed in hard and Jaskier's eyes flew open again as black spots danced at the edge of his vision. 

“HEY!” 

A new voice echoed off the walls of the alley and Jaskier was dropped suddenly. He crumpled to the ground and lay on his side against the wall, coughing hard as he tried to catch his breath. Running footsteps retreated into the distance as a hand settled on his shoulder. 

“Julian. Are you okay?”

Jaskier looked up to see Sebastian, one of the bartenders from the Kingfisher, leaning down over him. Relief washed over him, quickly followed by a tinge of regret. He coughed again and let himself be sat up against the wall. The other man reached out to brush his fingers over Jaskier's throat, the touch intimately gentle.

“Yeah, I'm alright. Thanks, Seb.” Jaskier turned his head and leaned a bit to the side, trying to be subtle about pulling away. Sebastian sat back, disappointment obvious on his face. Then he sighed quietly in acceptance, and started checking him over for injuries in a more clinical manner. Jaskier admired the way he could switch from hopeful lover to professional nurse mode so quickly. He winced as the other man gently probed the sore spot where the back of his head had hit the wall. His classes in nursing school were definitely paying off already. 

“Nothing appears to be broken. Your head is too hard and stubborn to admit to a head injury.” There was a quiet smirk in the words, but no bitterness for which Jaskier was grateful. He never set out to intentionally hurt anyone, but his heart was a fickle thing. A few nights of giddy passion had faded quickly for him. He loved Seb, but the other man wanted more than he could give. 

“How dare you mock my delicate brilliance.” His best defense against discomfort and awkwardness had always been wit, such as it was. This wasn't one of his better nights. Jaskier drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster while sitting in a dark alley. “ A troubadour's mind is only second to his voice. It's far too preoccupied with poetry to lower itself to being injured.” 

“It was lucky I went out to grab something to eat.” Sebastian helped Jaskier to his feet. “Come back to the bar. I'll drive you home after my shift”

“No, it's fine. Really.” He didn't want Essi to see new bruises on him so soon. “I'll just call a cab.” Jaskier puled out his phone only to see a cracked screen. He must have fallen on it when he landed on the ground. “Fuck.”

“If you insist on leaving now, I'll call you a cab. But you have to promise me you'll email me when you get home safe.” Sebastian's voice was still warm, but it offered no argument on that point as he pulled out his own phone. 

“Okay, thanks.” Jaskier huffed a sigh. “One more thing.” He held up his hands when Sebastian just raised a brow. “I know, I know. It's just. . .don't tell Essi.”

Sebastian gave him a terse look. “You really want to keep this from her? She's going to ask when she sees you.” Yes. Yes, she would.

“I'm sure. Please.” For a moment, Jaskier wasn't sure he'd agree. But then Sebastian nodded and made the call.

Neither one of them said anything about calling the police. The watchmen that patrolled this area would step in to address obvious threats, but his attackers were long gone now. Jaskier and Sebastian would be stuck at the station for hours giving statements while reports were filled out. And then they'd be ushered out with the promise that the cops would follow up, and nothing would be done. It was a waste of time, and they both knew it. So they waited for the cab in companionable silence, neither one of them knowing what to say. Jaskier didn't mention what the two men had said. He was still mulling it over. 

When the car pulled up, Sebastian deposited him into the backseat and wished him a good night before giving his address to the driver. Jaskier could see him watching the car leave as it drove away before he turned around and headed back towards the bar. Jaskier clenched his fingers in his lap and willed his hands to stop shaking. He hated the feel of adrenaline draining from his system and this was the second time in days he'd felt the aftermath of the chemical rush. Those men. They'd said it needed to look like a mugging, like they were specifically there to hurt him. Or kill him. He swallowed the bile that tried to rise in his throat. This was one of the many symptoms of his unfortunate birth into one of the wealthiest families in Lettenhove. It wasn't the first time he'd been targeted. His heart skipped a beat as he tried not to think about the fact that it probably wouldn't be the last.


	3. Strange Company

A week later, Jaskier wasn't much closer to figuring out how he was going to finance his trip back into the Wood. There weren't many job postings in the area, and the few that were hiring wouldn't even let him in the door. He was either under qualified or dismissed because of the name on his application. Being branded a Pankratz had it's disadvantages, but when he'd tried to change his name last year, Ferrant had raised such a fuss that it hadn't been worth it. Jaskier was currently sitting on a bench waiting for the bus to take him home since he didn't have the cash to fill up his car. Was tapping into his trust fund really that bad? The queasy sensation in his stomach told him that it certainly was. There was no way he could bring himself to use his family's money. It would taint the experience. He was drawn out of his sullen musings by a car pulling up. Essi rolled down the window and smiled at him.

“Would you care for a ride, good Sir?” 

“You are too kind, milady.” He stood and gave her a courtly bow before opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. “So what's up?” 

“We're going shopping.” 

He sighed. “Essi. . .” 

“Uh, uh.” She snapped the door locks shut and started off down the street before he could protest further. “You've been moping around all week and I've decided that you've punished yourself enough.” 

“I'm not. . .punishing myself,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I'm just trying to do things on my own terms.” 

“And I can respect that. But you're far too talented to let yourself languish here when you could be out there finding where you belong.” 

Jaskier remembered her song at the bar and wondered why she'd had a sudden change of heart. She'd never wanted him to go because she was convinced that he could make it work here. They pulled up in front of Anachro-Wraps. Despite the kitschy name, it was the best tailor in the area that specialized in natural fabrics. When Essi turned off the engine, she turned to him with an oddly earnest expression on her face.

“I heard you playing last night.” 

“Sorry if I kept you up.” Not all of his neighbors were enthusiastic about his music.

“It's not that and you know it. Last night was. . .different. The lute has changed something and your voice is different. The words, the melody. You have something. I don't know what it is, but if you sound like that after just a few hours in the Wood. Imagine what a few days or weeks could do.”

Jaskier sat back in his seat and just looked at her. She was staring at him with this look of wonder on her face that he'd only seen once when she held her first record contract in her hands. He'd give anything to feel that himself, but last night hadn't been anything special. He'd just been riffing on the lute, getting his fingers accustomed to the different fingerings as he'd tried out a few lines describing the Witcher. The music may have come to him a little easier, but it had hardly been a finished song. 

“If you say so.”

“I do,” she said with confidence. “But what is a bard without a wardrobe to attract the attention of the masses? It's time to get Jaskier a new look.”

Jaskier shivered. He'd never heard anyone say his stage name out loud before. It felt good. 

“Alright.” 

*******

After trying on nearly everything that would remotely fit him, Jaskier had settled on two sets of matching doublets and trousers. One was blue which was for everyday, and the other one was a silvery gray that had shining golden embroidery for special appearances. He was rather doubtful that he'd have to opportunity to wear the second one. It was more suited for performing at court than traveling. He also had a new leather pack, two spare shirts and chemises, new boots that actually fit, and a sturdy leather case to carry his lute safely. The quality was far better than the gear that he'd taken with him the first time. 

“There's no way I can repay you,” he said quietly as he stared at his reflection in the full length mirror drinking in the sight of the blue outfit that he planned to wear when he went back into the Wood. He fingered the red lining in one of the vertical slits that ran down the front of the doublet. Everything looked so beautiful in the simulated candlelight of the changing room. Essi met his gaze in the mirror where she sat in one of the carved oaken chairs behind him. She was leaning forward with her elbows on her knee and her chin propped on one hand. 

“Don't worry, I plan to shamelessly cover your amazing work when your songs make it across the border.” 

“Anytime.” he grinned.

“Who knows. Maybe I'll join you someday. We could travel together and perform on the same stage.”

“You like indoor plumbing too much.” Jaskier laughed when she pouted at him. 

“True. I don't think I could give up hot showers.” She stood up and came around to take his hands. “There truly is nothing to repay. But I do have one request that's not really a request. There's a caravan leaving the day after tomorrow and they're heading all the way to Oxenfurt. I know you feel like this is something you have to do on your own, but I want you to travel with them.”

A caravan would certainly be safer. He remembered sitting with his mother in the back of a wagon while she told him tales of far off lands. It was a good memory. And then there was Essi staring at him with her big blue eyes, her expression both hopeful and worried. There was no way he could refuse her. 

“Okay.” 

“Good.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Because I already booked you a spot.”

Of course she did. He wondered if it was really his playing that had changed her mind, or if she'd been planning this for a while. It hardly mattered. Looking at his reflection in the full length mirror again, he felt giddy excitement bubbling up in his belly. He was doing this for real now. 

*******

Jaskier approached the border way station that sat on the Modern side. It was an open field with a lean-to off the side of the road that led into the Wood with a parking lot holding a few vehicles. It wasn't big on amenities but it was only meant as a gathering place for people traveling to and from the other side. They would be taking a different road than the one Jaskier had traveler before. The caravan consisted of three covered wagons, each with a pair of sturdy horses hooked in the traces. The lead and rear wagons had room for passengers while the one in the middle was reserved for baggage and supplies. 

The company had assigned four strong men, each equipped with swords and spears. Two were checking the tack on their mounts while the other two stood at the ready, scanning the passengers they'd be escorting. Jaskier couldn't quite help but compare them to the Witcher and found them wanting. They were tough looking of course, but they didn't have the same raw power as the man he'd met the week before. 

The caravan's leader was splitting his time between greeting the customers and checking with the other two wagon drivers and the escort to ensure everything was ready for the trip. He was a tall man with salt and pepper threaded through his cropped dark hair and the beard that outlined his jaw. There was a smile on his face and a jovial light in his eyes. He exuded confidence and competence and everyone seemed at ease once he greeted them.

A table was setup to one side for check-in with a small man handing out forms and pens to sign them. Jaskier hefted his pack and stepped up to the table with a smile.

“Good morning, good sir,” he said with a smile.

The man rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “Yeah, sure.” He flipped a sheet of paper and slapped it down in front of him with a pen. “Sign the waiver.”

“Waiver?”

“Have you ever traveled across the border before?” the man asked with tired impatience. 

“Of course I have.” Jaskier swallowed her nerves. There was no reason to feel insecure about this.

“Then you know how dangerous it is. The waiver absolves Crandatch Incorporated of all liability including, but not limited to, sickness, injury, maiming, curses, transformation, magical maladies, and death.” The last of those should have been the most worrisome, but for some reason death seemed like the lesser fate on that list. Jaskier swallowed.

“Right.” He knew what he was getting into. Snapping up the pen with a twirling flourish, he signed as Jaskier with a flick of his wrist. There was an annoyed sigh from the other man.

“Your real name, idiot. We don't care who you think you want to be.”

“I swear Brand. If you weren't so good at figures and working out shifting currency values, I'd dropkick your ass to the curb.” The caravan leader came up to the table and placed a large, warm hand on Jaskier's shoulder. “You'll treat customers with more respect or you'll have to go back to doing accounting for Moderns.”

Brand's lips thinned and he took a breath before saying anything. He seemed to be trying to swallow his temper. “He hasn't signed the waiver with his legal name. Even you aren't dumb enough to escort someone without it, Stellan.”

Stellan took the paper and looked at it. “As much as he's being an asshole right now, he's right. I can't take you if you don't sign it properly.”

“I have identification.” The sparkle of humor in Stellan's eyes bolstered Jaskier's confidence enough to be a bit daring. “I would have happily provided it, if said asshole had allowed me to speak,” he said, his tone light. 

He pulled out the parchment sealed with wax and a ribbon of naming. Another gift from Essi. It was the magical equivalent of a name change, and it was legally binding. Everyone who passed into the Wood could apply for one Bill of Naming that would become their identity in the Old Cities. When the seal passed over the border, it would be permanently bound to him by his blood which had been mixed with the ink. Stellan examined it for a moment before grinning.

“Well, Jaskier the Bard. Welcome to the caravan.” Stellan gave him a small bow. “It would be my pleasure to hear you play along the journey, if you'd be so inclined.”

“I'd be honored.” Jaskier hoped that the quiver in his belly was excitement and not nerves. His repertoire wasn't exactly vast, and Gods knew his online posts hadn't been doing well. But he felt a little thrill at the idea of creating new songs along the way. 

“Excellent.” Stellan clapped him on the back. “You can stow your gear on the middle wagon. We'll be heading out when the last of our security arrives.” 

Jaskier headed over to the wagon and loaded his pack with the rest of the luggage that was already in place, but he kept his lute with him. There were large casks of water and crates of preserved food along with camping gear and blankets. The pamphlet for the trip had laid out all of the provided amenities including meals and temporary shelter. They'd stop at several way stations and towns for provisions along the way. It would take almost three months to get to Oxenfurt on foot with the wagons. 

There were several other travelers already waiting for the trip to begin. There was a couple on their honeymoon, a mother and her two children who'd received the trip as a gift, a professor who was traveling back to Oxenfurt after studying modern technology, and a quiet man who sat reading a book and didn't seem interested in socializing. Jaskier thought he looked familiar but he didn't know him. Compared to the rest of them, who all wore earthen tones of green, brown and gray, his cornflower blue doublet and trousers seemed bright, almost ostentatiously so. But he loved the clothes that Essi bought him and he refused to feel self conscious about it. Shrugging, he spoke with the other travelers. 

It was worth their while to get to know each other and they all exchanged pleasantries, knowing that they were about to be spending a lot of time together. But all talking ceased suddenly and there was a tension in the air. Jaskier looked around to see a newcomer speaking to Stellan. They shook hands and the caravan leader handed him a small pouch. Jaskier's eyes widened when the man raised his eyes and his golden gaze landed on him. Geralt's lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. Jaskier just grinned. He couldn't help it. 

“Who is that man, mommy?” one of the children asked in a loud whisper. 

“Hush, dear. Don't bother him.” The mother steered her son and daughter away towards the rear wagon before the girl could ask anymore questions. Jaskier was still feeling bold and he sauntered over, pulling a sugar cube out of his pocket and offering it to Roach, who came over to greet him.

“Hello, my Lady. Lovely to see you again,” he said as he reached up to scratch her ears. Geralt seemed mildly perturbed by the gentle abandonment of his mount leaving him. Jaskier smirked. “What? I'm just following your advice and traveling with a caravan.”

He only received a glare in return as the other man took the reigns and lead Roach away towards the lead wagon. Stellan came up to stand next to Jaskier with a curious look on his face. 

“Do you two know each other?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Forgive me for saying so,” the other man said gently. “But something tells me this is your first trip into the Wood and Witchers aren't known for traveling in the Modern world.”

“Technically no,” Jaskier admitted sheepishly. “We crossed paths briefly once before. Is he, ah, coming with us?”

“Yes. We're extremely lucky he's headed in our direction. He's usually on the other side of the Continent this time of year.”

Jaskier glanced around at the other travelers, noticing their cautious reactions and furtive whispers. “Why is everyone being so weird about it?” Who wouldn't want to travel with a living legend? 

“Superstition mostly. Everyone knew he'd be coming with us. It was in the waiver.”

Jaskier didn't mention that he hadn't bothered to read it before signing. “Right, well. We'll be leaving soon then?” Jaskier asked him, eager to leave.

“Presently.” Stellan sauntered off and clapped his hands. “Ladies and Gentleman, stow any remaining belongings if you please. We're about to head out.” 

And with that, they were off. Two of the escorts mounted their horses while the other two walked along side. Stellan hopped up onto the lead wagon and they all started moving. Jaskier felt that same shiver slide up his spine as they crossed over the border. If anything, it felt stronger this time. He felt eyes on him and looked over to see Geralt staring at him with a strange expression on his face. His hand was clasped around the wolf medallion around his neck, but he dropped it to grip the pommel of his saddle when he saw Jaskier looking. Spurring Roach along, he moved up in front of the wagons to scout ahead. Weird.

Jaskier longed to move up there with him, but he'd made a promise to Essi that he'd make his decisions more carefully this time around. Both of them knew he wouldn't be able to keep it, but he'd at least wait until the second day before doing something so blatantly foolish. Instead, he pulled out his lute and started to play a lilting melody to pass the time, something with a rhythm that was easy to walk to and lifted the spirits. The atmosphere of the caravan had already been anticipatory, but it shifted into something livelier with a layer of excitement trembling underneath. It was a new day and a new song and Jaskier felt his heart lift. He played without words and that suited him for now.

The next few days were filled with walking and talking, full of excited chatter from the children and conversation among the adults about their careers and past times. But after a while, the novelty started to wear off and the wear of traveling in the wild was starting to take its toll. The mother had to spend a fair amount of time corralling her children as they became bored without some form of electronic entertainment to occupy their time. The honeymooning couple became impatiently snappish with each other and sullen with the rest of the company. Jaskier wondered how long their marriage would last after the trip. The professor seemed bored by all of this and retreated into one of the wagons to go over his research notes. Only the lone man reading a book while he walked seemed unaffected by growing tension. The caravan company seemed unfazed by the people they escorted and Geralt spent most of his time ranging around the wagons, seldom remaining within sight and never when Jaskier was playing.

Jaskier walked by the lead wagon feeling disappointment settle in his middle. He was perfectly comfortable in their surroundings, loving the shadowed trees and leafy undergrowth spread before him. He slept more soundly in his bedroll in the fresh forest air than he ever had in his room at home, and food always tasted better to him outdoors. He looked forward to when he could take an honest to Gods bath instead of bathing in cold streams, but otherwise he enjoyed the cool rush of it. But the irritability of his companions and the ferocious whine of bored children were starting to wear thin. 

“Take heart, young bard,” Stellan said quietly from where he sat on the wagon. “We'll soon be free of the dead weight.”

“What?” 

“Come up and ride for a bit.” the other man said with a nod.

Jaskier shifted the lute and clambered up into the wagon to sit next to him on the bench. “What do you mean, dead weight?”

“It happens every time,” he kept his voice pitched low but clear. “People get more than they bargain for. They romanticize outdoor living and mistake adventure for the hard pragmatism of what it really means to live outside without electricity and indoor plumbing.”

“And how will be rid of them exactly?” Jaskier asked carefully, suddenly wondering what Essi had gotten him into. When Stellan saw the look on his face, he laughed, a surprised burst of sound that shook him where he sat. Jaskier glowered, feeling like he was being made the butt of a joke somehow.

“Oh, the look on your face.” Stellan's laughter trailed off into a deep chuckle. “Relax, Jaskier and don't let your imagination run away with you. We'll reach the first way station in a couple days and we'll split up. Anyone who's changed their mind will be escorted back and the rear wagon will return to the border with Brett and Vaz. The rest of us will continue on.”

“It can't be cost effective to lose half your clients before you've even gotten to the first town on the road.”

“We also transport goods and messages so it's not a total loss. But it's all in the waiver. Payment up front with a small percentage returned if you don't complete the journey for any reason.” The other man chuckled again. “You really didn't read it, did you.”

“I read the part about all of the things that might happen to me that you won't be legally responsible for,” Jaskier huffed, trying not to feel embarrassed for being called out. “The rest didn't really seem important.”

“I'll be honest. You've surprised me with how well you've taken to the Wood. When we started out, I was sure you'd turn back with the rest.” 

“Why?”

Stellan looked at him for a moment, considering his words. “You're eager and willing to be here. Perhaps a bit too much. I can practically smell your lack of experience.”

Jaskier bristled but said nothing.

“I don't mean any offense,” he said. “You're young. You're obviously talented. If you play your cards right, there's a place for you in the Old Cities if you can survive long enough to claim it. But anyone dumb enough to enter the Wood alone and get treed by Wargs on their first day makes me want to hedge my bets.”

“Oh Gods,” Jaskier moaned and turned away, suddenly wanting to hurl himself off the wagon into the underbrush so he could hide.

“It's okay. Your secret is safe with me,” Stellan said, taking pity on him while trying to hide his smile.

“How do you even know about that? He barely says a word to anyone.” Geralt hadn't even looked at him since the first day.

“I've known Geralt for most of my life and he's traveled with me many times. He always gauges my clients and lets me know about any risks. His evaluations are gold.”

Jaskier was elated that the Witcher had spoken about him but was mortified by the reason. He remembered the way he'd rattled off all the reasons he knew Jaskier was from Lettenhove like he'd been studying him for hours instead of glancing at him for a few minutes.

“I'm a risk?” 

“A risk of wandering off after a pretty butterfly and nearly getting eaten by an Endrega? Yes.”

“I didn't. . .” Jaskier swallowed remembering being entranced by the flight of one of the largest butterflies he'd ever seen the day before. Its wings were a blending mix of green and blue threaded with gold and it was beautiful. He'd made it nearly twenty feet into the underbrush following it before being ushered back towards the wagon by a very agitated mounted escort. He just thought the other man was annoyed because he was slowing the caravan. He hadn't considered that he might be saving him from danger. “Oh. I didn't realize.”

“You nearly stumbled over a nest and would have spooked its occupants if Vaz hadn't corralled you back over to the wagons.”

“He didn't say anything.”

“We make it a point not to panic the clients,” Stellan said evenly. “We try to be as honest as we can about the danger, but within limits. I'd appreciate it if you kept your near demise to yourself. It would either scare them or prompt more to dare the forest to see for themselves. Hysteria serves no purpose and nobody really believes until the teeth are literally snapping at their throats.” He sounded tired and a bit jaded about that.

“Then why do it?”

“Because this is what I was meant to do.” He shrugged like it was obvious. “I was born in the mountains of Eastern Kaedwen but I went over the border to the west and into Redania as soon I was legally allowed to cross on my own. Never looked back. This is where I belong. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I do.” Jaskier knew exactly what he meant. 

“I thought you might.”

It was obvious there was more he wasn't saying. Jaskier waited for him to continue, but when he stayed quiet with eyes on the road, he excused himself and hopped down from the wagon. He fell back to walk by himself for a while as he considered what Stellan had said.


	4. River Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments. I'm glad people are enjoying the story.

Jaskier was still mulling over his conversation with Stellan when they pulled into the first way station two days later. It was another lean-to with pickets for the horses that offered some cover from the weather, a well, and a large, carved fire pit with stone benches ringed around it. Night was falling and he went over to help Brett get wood to start the fire but was warned away with a flat look and a dismissive wave. Jaskier made a face at him and resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. He'd apparently earned something of a reputation as a hapless liability among their escort. He had no doubt that Stellan had kept his word about not saying anything, but apparently Vaz wasn't quiet so considerate. All four of the men eyed him carefully and followed him everywhere like he'd trip over a monster or start a fire at any moment. 

So he resigned himself to pacing and waiting for everyone to settle around the fire, trying to avoid the couple that had stopped speaking to each other. The were currently glaring at each other over the the fire pit. Jaskier was distracted from their silent fuming by one of the children who was trying to take his lute out of the case. There was money in his purse for expenses, but not enough to replace it if it broke even if could find a place that sold instruments.

“That's not a toy, my young friend,” he said gently reaching down trying to extract the lute case from increasingly greedy fingers that curled around the strap. He worried that he'd have to engage in a careful tug of war.

“Your not my friend, you dork!” The boy suddenly kicked his shin and let go before running back towards the rear wagon. 

“Why you fu-” Jaskier stumbled over his words as the boy's mother glared daggers at him. “Fu-riendly little child,” he finished lamely. She sneered and turned away as the boy tugged at her dress to ask for something. 

“Nice save, Dork,” Vaz muttered as he passed, chuckling under his breath.

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied primly, refusing to rise to the bait. The man's teasing wasn't unkind. It was a more fraternal kind of joking and Jaskier secretly enjoyed the attention when it didn't annoy the hell out of him.

He went over and sat on one of the benches by the fire while trying to ignore the miserable tension in the camp. Taking out the lute, he set his fingers on the strings and started to play. For the first time since they started out, he sang. He'd been thinking about the journey and the start of his new life. It didn't feel like it was properly beginning yet and he was still waiting. He sang of promise and faith that the next day would hold wonders. His heart settled and the underlying frustration of the trip slowly melted away. 

One by one, the rest of the group joined him around the fire to listen. Even Brett and Vaz seemed to relax as they turned the spit over the fire and kept an eye on the stew pot. It was full dark now, and outside at the edge of the firelight Jaskier saw the glint of golden cat eyes reflecting the light of the flames. It sent a jolt to his belly but his fingers never wavered on the strings as he stared back and continued singing. When the final cords faded away, Geralt closed his eyes and turned away. It was too dark to see his outline and Jaskier wasn't sure where he went, but he didn't come near the fire. 

The group was quiet as they ate, but at least they weren't as openly cranky anymore. The soon to-be-divorced couple and the mother with her children would be traveling back in the morning. After dinner, Stellan took them aside to fill out some paperwork and address their fees. Professor Ernan and the quiet man, whose name was Dell, stayed by the fire as they'd be continuing on to Oxenfurt with Jaskier. 

Jaskier stayed by the fire long after most had gone to bed. Only Dell was still up, engrossed in the same book that he'd been reading since they started off.

“Where did you study?”

“I beg your pardon?” Jaskier looked over at Dell who was looking at him directly for the first time. His shoulder length black hair was held back by a tie and he wore simple homespun clothing with a leather vest.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” The other man asked.

“Um, nowhere really. I taught myself.”

“Wow. That's impressive.”

Jaskier shrugged trying to downplay the pleasure of the compliment. “It's not that hard.”

“Sure.” Dell eyed the lute with a raised brow. “That has way more strings than a guitar. My fingers are tying themselves in knots just looking at it.”

“It just takes practice.” Jaskier wasn't quite sure how to tell him he wasn't sure how he'd learned. Playing instruments had always come to him naturally and he'd figured most of it out on his own. Despite it's more complex appearance, the lute had been the easiest by far. 

“May I?” Dell held out his hand and Jaskier handed over the instrument to him easily, confident that he'd be much more gentle than the boy. He watched the other man turn it over in his hands, examining it before plucking a few strings experimentally. He looked up suddenly when Geralt joined them by the fire. Dell watched him warily as he handed the lute back. “Well, goodnight then, he said abruptly as he headed towards the bedrolls.

“Sorry about that,” Jaskier said after Dell had left. Geralt turned a puzzled look towards him.

“What are you sorry for?” His gravely tone sent shivers down Jaskier's spine. 

“For Dell. That was rude.”

Geralt seemed ambivalent as he turned back toward the flames. “I'm used to it.”

“But. . .you shouldn't have to be. That's stupid.”

“Taking offense at every slight is a waste of my time.” He was so calm. The aversion of the other travelers was mild, and Jaskier knew he must have faced much worse. But he was working with Stellan. There was no reason he should be subjected to people who couldn't even afford him common courtesy. Before he could tell him so, Stellan joined them, sitting next to Geralt and stretching his legs toward the fire.

“You should get some rest Jaskier. We'll be heading out at first light and the terrain will become tougher from here on.” 

It was a gentle dismissal and Jaskier bit his lip. He really wanted to stay. This was the first time Geralt had spoken to him since they'd first met and he didn't want to waste the opportunity. But Stellan's expression told him he'd have to wait, so he just nodded and headed to his own bedroll. 

*******

When Jaskier woke the next morning, the other party was already packed and getting ready to leave even though it was still dark with just the promise of the sun at the horizon. To his surprise, Dell was with them. Jaskier thought he was continuing on with them to Oxenfurt, but maybe he changed his mind. The professor was still sleeping so he at least was probably sticking around. Jaskier watched the group leave as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Rolling up his bedroll and gathering up his lute, he stowed his gear away in one of the remaining wagons and came over to the fire with Brett and Vaz. 

“I thought you guys were going back with them,” he said through a yawn. 

“That's what happens when you lose at cards that badly,” Vaz said with a chuckle as he handed him a cup of coffee.

“It was hardly a fair game.” Stellan's tone was mild as he came over to sit with them. “Toby is terrible at cards.”

Brett sniffed. “Serves him right for trying to use loaded dice last time. Besides, Vaz and I know the roads here better.”

“Yeah,” Vaz agreed. “Toby is shit with a bow and Becker is too eager for a fight still. He's going to need a clearer head before he's ready to travel all the way to Oxenfurt.”

Jaskier sat and listened to them talk shop as they planned their route while he gnawed on a hunk of bread and drank his coffee. 

“Did Dell change his mind?” Jaskier asked them when they were finished. “I thought he was going with us.” 

Stellan shrugged. “Like I said, people underestimate what it's like out here. He asked to go back last night.”

“Okay.” It was too bad the other man decided to leave just when he was starting to open up. 

“Cheer up, Buttercup,” Vaz said. “We'll be joined by another group of people outside of Barefield so you can make a new friend when we get there.”

Jaskier turned to him languidly, taking a deliberate sip of his coffee. “Who needs friends when I have companions such as these?” he said. “You are truly a marvel of etiquette and poise, Vaz.”

Brett and Stellan laughed heartily while Vaz flipped him off and got up to go ready his horse. Geralt was already there checking Roach's saddle, watching them with something that may have been amusement. When he met Jaskier's gaze, his usual glower returned. Jaskier just grinned and blew him a kiss. 

Brett blew out a breath after Geralt had mounted and ridden ahead on the road to scout. “Vaz was right. You do have a death wish.”

“What?”

“Most people don't flirt with Witchers.” Brett spoke slowly like he was talking to a child.

Jaskier stared back at him and considered blaming it on not having enough coffee yet, but that wasn't it. He just stared at the other man with a straight face. “I'm not most people.”

Brett threw his hands up in defeat. “You do whatever you want then. Don't blame me when you say the wrong thing and get your ass kicked.” He looked at Stellan. “I'm not going to trail him through Barefield to make sure he doesn't die. Way too much work.” He got up and went to talk to the remaining wagon driver and check their supplies. Jaskier was left with Stellan who was watching him with interest. 

“You're not going to lecture me too, are you?”

“Nope. Geralt can defend his own honor. And if he snaps and tries to thump some sense into you, more power to him.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a rebuke.”

Stellan laughed. “While I don't believe you're chasing your own demise, you're different now than when we headed out a week ago. What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing, really.” Jaskier shrugged. “It's just a good day, I guess.” And it was a good day. Free of the travelers that didn't want to be here and surrounded by people who knew the land, Jaskier felt better than he had in a very long time. It was like the longer he spent in the Wood, the better he felt.

“It's good that you're getting comfortable with us, and with Geralt, but you can be a bit too carefree. Have a bit more caution when we reach Barefield next week. It's not a terrible place, but not everyone will have your best interests at heart.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jaskier said with a mock salute that made the other man sigh.

“Jaskier. I mean it.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice finally serious. “I'll do my best to be careful.” 

“I guess that's the best I can ask for.”

“Is there any coffee left?” Ernan shuffled over and slouched on the bench beside Jaskier. He looked between the two of them and blinked. “What did I miss?”

*******

Three days later, they were stopped beside the road in a small clearing. One of the wagon wheels had slipped out of alignment and they had to make some repairs before they moved on. Brett and Vaz were working with the wagon driver as Stellan held the wheel and tried to wrench into place. Ernan was sitting on a rock poring over his notes again. Geralt had ridden off to check the surrounding area. Jaskier could see mountains in the distance over the trees and the sun was heading downward in the sky as the day shifted into afternoon. He had been summarily shooed away from the wagon while it was being repaired and he was bored. Just as he was about to go rooting through his bag for his notebook, a sound caught his attention. At the edge of his of his hearing, he thought he heard a woman's voice.

He wandered away into the trees and headed toward the sound. As he got closer, he realized she was singing. It was beautiful. The sound of water started trickling in the background as he came out next to a deep river. The singing started again and he turned to see a nimble woman with long, pale hair kneeling at the water's edge. Her hair trailed down her back with flowers woven through the long strands. Her voice was pretty and light and he started singing with her, threading his voice around hers in accompaniment. Her tone shifted and she turned to look at him, her lips curling in a surprised smile. It was at this point that he realized that she was completely nude. Part of his brain registered that this was not a normal thing and he should go back. But she continued to sing to him a song of longing and promise. 

His feet started toward her before he realized that he'd started walking. She continued to smile through her song and stood, holding her arms out to welcome him. He had enough presence of mind to toe out of his boots and pull off his clothes as he went, dropping them on the ground as he went to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her lips tasted like summer rain as her delicate hands trailed along his skin. She moved back towards the river with him in her arms. He thought he heard someone call his name but all sound became muffled as they slipped beneath the surface of the water. Still kissing his lips, she coiled herself around him, and he moved with her in a sweet crescendo towards a soft climax. He was distracted enough not to notice that he wasn't getting any air. While part of his mind screamed a warning, the rest of him was sating himself in her body as his vision went dark.

*******

Jaskier woke because he was freezing. A hard shiver wracked his body and he found himself laying with his legs in the water of the river and his torso propped up on the grassy bank with weeds trailing down over his shoulders. Twilight was beginning to fall. He was naked, but that wasn't really the strangest part of his current predicament. There was also a beautiful nude woman draped along his body with her head resting on his chest. She looked up at him with ethereal blue eyes and far too many sharp teeth when she smiled. But her fingers were gentle as she pressed a small stone into his cramped hand.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “This is. . .awkward.” He looked down to see what she had giving him and saw an opal the size of a small grape. 

“Do you see him?” Stellan's voice echoed out over the water to his right and the the woman tensed before diving quickly into the river. 

“What was that?” Vaz was somewhere closer to his left. He called out, worry threading through his voice. “Jaskier!” 

“Over here,” he croaked, his voice coming out rough. Jaskier tried to sit up and winced as his cramping legs protested. 

“Thank the Gods, he's alive!” Stellan's relief was palatable as the sound of breaking branches came closer from the right side.

“Not for long!” Vaz growled. “Where are you, you little shit?” He should have sounded angry but his voice was far too distressed for that.

“How encouraging it is to have such benevolent rescuers,” Jaskier said as he continued struggling to rise.

“What the fuck?” Vaz broke through the bushes on his left side and came over to kneel beside him. He had his sword drawn and his gaze raked over his body, presumably trying to see if he was injured. There was a splash from the river and he hauled Jaskier back, dragging him painfully up onto the bank so he could shield him with his body. The woman was watching them with narrowed eyes from where she swam in place in the middle of the river. She called a question out to Jaskier with her musical voice asking if he was alright. He couldn't quite place her strange accent. 

“I'm fine. He's a friend.” He put his hand on Vaz's sword arm to try and lower it, but he couldn't make it budge. “Uh, it was a pleasure to meet you. I think.”

She smiled again and nodded before slipping beneath the water and disappearing.

“Holy shit,” Vaz murmured looking from the ripples left in her wake and turning back to Jaskier with wide eyes.

“What?” 

Vaz looked up to a spot behind them on the bank. “Do you believe this shit?”

Jaskier looked behind him to see Stellan looking at him with the same wide eyed, wary expression. Geralt stood at his shoulder, but he was watching the water. He sword was drawn but he sheathed it after a moment and stared down at Jaskier, his eyes narrowed.

“Seriously. Why are you all looking at me like that?” They were making Jaskier nervous.

Stellan didn't say anything immediately. He came over to help Vaz get him to his feet and moved him further away from the water before pressing Jaskier's clothes into his arms. 

“Get dressed before you get hypothermia. We need to get back to the wagons.”

Jaskier pulled on his trousers and boots, fumbling with the ties a bit with his stiff fingers. Vaz took off toward the wagons without another word, leaving him with Stellan and the Witcher. 

“How do you feel?” Geralt asked, his tone gruff and curling with an odd inflection Jaskier hadn't heard before.

Jaskier paused to look at him before pulling on his shirt. “I'm fine. Just cold.”

Geralt and Stellan exchanged another strange look before the caravan leader turned back to him. “You didn't mark on you application that you knew the Elder Speech.”

Jaskier tucked his shirt in and shrugged into his doublet, disliking the feel of his damp skin under the fabric. “I took a class in school, but it was a while ago. I'm kind of rusty so I didn't bother.”

Stellan looked helplessly at Geralt.

“He took a class, apparently. He said he's 'rusty'.” The way he said the last word almost made the implied air quotes visible. 

“Okay.” Jaskier planted his hands on his hips. “You guys are starting to freak me out now.” He nearly stumbled when Geralt moved forward and gripped his chin to look in his eyes before tilting his head from side to side like he was examining him. Jaskier's skin tingled under his touch. “A little warning before you manhandle me, please.” 

Jaskier felt himself blushing furiously as he gripped the other man's wrist but it was like wrapping his fingers around a steel bar. Geralt pressed his amulet to Jaskier's cheek and the metal was warm against his chilled skin. He nearly fell when he was suddenly released and Geralt abruptly headed back toward the wagons, nodding at Stellan as he passed him. Stellan reached out to steady Jaskier with a hand on his arm and started guiding him back to camp. 

“Stellan, what's. . .” The other man cut him off.

“Just be quiet for now. I'm taking you back to camp so we can get a closer look at you. I can't understand a word you're saying. You've been speaking nothing but Elder Speech since we found you.”

Jaskier felt his stomach drop and let himself be led back to camp.


	5. Magic Rising

Back at the camp, Jaskier changed into a spare shirt after drying off and hanging out his damp clothes to dry. He sat huddled in a blanket by the fire with a hot cup of tea in his hand. He'd taken his boots off and his bare feet were stretched out towards the flames. He hadn't spoken since Stellan brought him back and he stared down into his drink, unsure of what to do. Stellan was talking to Geralt by one of the wagons and Vaz was out doing a perimeter check. The wagon driver and Ernan were already asleep while Brett sat across the fire watching him quietly. 

“Am I cursed?” Jaskier asked finally, hating the tense silence. 

A look of relief washed over Brett's face. “Apparently not,” he said. “Hey Stellan, get over here.” 

Stellan and Geralt came over to sit with them. “What do you remember?” Stellan asked.

“Um.” He faltered under the intense stare of the other three men. “I'm speaking Common now, right?” When all of them nodded, he blew out a breath and continued. “I heard a woman singing. She was by the water.” 

“Wait.” Brett held up his hand to stop him. “You heard a woman singing by the water and you just casually sauntered over to see what she was doing?” Brett was starting at him like he'd just said that he liked to dance naked with dragons in the snow. He turned to Stellan. “I take it back. He's not going to survive long enough to make it to Barefield.”

“Shut up, Brett,” Stellan muttered. “Jaskier, remember what I said about being careless?”

“I signed the stupid waiver. You're not responsible for what happens to me.” 

“This isn't about the fucking waiver!” Stellan snapped. “You walked into a Rusalka's arms and she took you into the water.”

Jaskier swallowed hard and nearly dropped his mug as his blood went cold. That would certainly explain the teeth. But he'd never heard of anyone surviving something like that. “Why am I not dead?”

“Good question,” Geralt rumbled. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean, what did I do?” he said, indignantly. “I heard her singing, I sang back and we. . .” He trailed off and shrugged helplessly. “It was nice. She gave me an opal.” He scowled when Brett started laughing.

“I can't believe this. He lays a Rusalka unscathed and she thanks him for it. He speaks Elder Speech with an eloquence only Elves posses. And he has no idea what any of that means. Priceless.” Brett sat back and stared at him. “Where the hell are you from?”

“Lettenhove.”

“Right,” Brett scoffed.

“He isn't lying,” Geralt said, his tone thoughtful. 

“Thank you soooo much.” Jaskier was tired. As nice as it had been in the river, he was sore and miserable now. 

“Wherever you're from, I'm not convinced you're completely human,” Brett said. 

“Fuck off Brett.” Vaz came over to the fire and plopped down beside Jaskier. “It doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” Brett huffed and went over to the lead wagon, hauling himself into the back and out of sight. 

“Don't mind him. He gets weird around magic.”

“Then why the hell does he work in the Wood?” Jaskier asked, suddenly exasperated. “It's everywhere. I mean, it is literally in the air we're breathing right now.”

Geralt's gaze sharpened. “You can feel that?”

“Well yeah, can't you?”

“Of course he can, he's a Witcher,” Vaz huffed. “He's the weird among the weird. No offense Geralt.” The Witcher shrugged, unconcerned by the comment as Vaz continued. “Most humans can't. Even sorcerers can't sense it the way you seem to.”

Geralt took a deep breath. “Had you ever been to the Wood before we met?”

“Once, when I was a kid. My mom took me to see her family.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, I don't know who they are. It was a long time ago and I don't remember much. I was really young.” He remember a few clear moments of sitting with his mother in a caravan wagon and watching the stars with her. He also remembered her singing. But as for the rest of the trip, it had been washed away by stronger, more painful memories of growing up in Lettenhove without her. 

“I still say it doesn't matter,” Vaz said. He looked over at Jaskier and grinned. “But no more skinny dipping, yeah?” He stood and ruffled Jaskier's damp hair, mussing it so it flopped over his forehead. Jaskier glowered at him and tugged the blanket tighter as he ducked from under his hand. The other man went over to his bedroll and settled down. 

“I'm going to honest with you,” Stellan said.

“I very much doubt that,” Jaskier told him sullenly. “I know you haven't been telling me everything.” 

“Too bad you're not as perceptive of your surroundings as you are about people.” Stellan looked just as tired as Jaskier felt. But he didn't elaborate about what he wasn't saying. “I'm going to set some rules. You don't leave camp alone and if you see anything out of the ordinary, you tell Vaz or myself.”

“Oh yay. Chaperons.” 

“That's literally what you hired us for,” the other man said, his tone serious. “I'll not have you endangering the rest of us and I'm not above tying you up and putting you in one of the wagons for the rest of the trip.”

Jaskier swallowed, convinced that he actually meant it. “What about Brett? I'm pretty sure he hates me now.”

“He doesn't hate you, he hates surprises. Give him some space. He's. . .been through a lot. But he'll do his job.” Stellan spared a glance at the lead wagon where Brett had disappeared before turning back to Jaskier. “There's one last thing.”

It was on the tip of Jaskier's tongue to say something sarcastic or scathing, but looking at the two men sitting before him, he just sat quietly and waited for what he had to say. If Jaskier was being totally honest with himself, he was scared. He needed them.

“If we come under attack, stay with Geralt and do what he tells you. Not questions, no arguments.”

The Witcher turned his head to look at the other man with a fierce frown on his face. This was obviously something they had not discussed previously. “You're not paying me enough to be a personal bodyguard.” 

Stellan met his hard gaze without flinching. “I'll make it worth your while. I can't afford to send anyone back with him and we're not turning around.” There was definitely something else going on.

“I'm not going back,” Jaskier snapped. They both ignored him.

“If he dies, which is likely, I will be held responsible. Your paperwork does not offer me protection from the laws of men the way it does for you,” Geralt said. “I'm not putting myself in that position again.”

“I haven't had a client die in my caravan in more than ten years. I'm not about to let that change now and your assistance would be greatly appreciated. I won't let them corner you the way they did before, should the worst befall us. Please trust me.” Something passed between them as Stellan watched the Witcher carefully, waiting for an answer. Geralt looked over at Jaskier before closing his eyes and sighing. 

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet. I'm only traveling with you as far as Gelibol, and then you'll have to keep him from traipsing off into the jaws of death on your own.” He huffed. “And that's only if he doesn't do something stupid before then.”

Gelibol was about two thirds of the way along their journey so Jaskier had plenty of time to get to know more about the Witcher before he left. Stellan headed off to bed while he was musing about the road ahead and Jaskier was left with Geralt who was still glaring after the other man. When he turned his icy gaze on Jaskier, he should have been afraid, but he wasn't and he returned the look evenly.

“Did she do something to me?” he asked quietly after a few minutes.

“No.” Geralt shook his head and the tension seemed to drain out of him. “Whatever this is, it's your magic. It started when you crossed the border.”

“I'm not. . .I mean. I don't have magic.” That was absurd.

Geralt's brows rose and he came over to kneel next to him. He grasped Jaskier's left ankle and turned it to see better in the light of the fire. Jaskier had to lean back and brace his hands to keep from falling onto his back.

“Seriously, you really need to let me know when you decide you want to put your hands on me,” he said, trying not to squirm as warm, calloused fingers gently traced along the tendons on the top of his foot. 

“That Warg nearly took your foot off but these scars look months old. It's been two and a half weeks at best.” Geralt set his foot back down and tucked the blanket over it before settling back in his original seat. It was a strangely thoughtful gesture from someone who seemed unconcerned about how he felt. 

“I think that's a bit of an exaggeration,” Jaskier said, suddenly nervous. “It wasn't that bad.” After two days, the wounds were mostly healed.

“I was the one who patched you up. It was that bad,” the other man said. “At least it was at first. It was already visibly healing when I applied the bandage.”

“How?”

“When Roach came back over, you were singing.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He remembered the tingling that had lasted nearly a day after he woke up. “But it was still tingling when I was in Lettenhove. There's no magic there.”

“Hmm.”

That was actually. . .kind of scary. It had been a few hundred years since the Conjunction, and the general rules of magic were pretty well mapped out at this point. He hadn't heard anything about them being subject to change unless it was a discovery of something that already existed.

“Am I safe?” He remembered stories of sorcerers stealing boys who showed signs of magic and taking them away to Ban Ard. It was the kind of story that was told to children to encourage them to behave, but it seemed frighteningly real now. “They're not going to come take me away, are they? I don't want to be a sorcerer.”

“It's not that kind of magic,” the other man rumbled. “I doubt the Brotherhood would have any interest in you. They'd probably consider it hedge magic at best. But I wouldn't tell anyone else about it, especially about the healing continuing after you got back home.”

“Believe me, I'm not about to advertise or anything.” He wasn't quite sure what he meant about the kind of magic he was supposedly using. Magic was magic as far as he knew. He'd taken a few magical theory courses out of curiosity, but classes in the Modern world weren't nearly as thorough as what was taught in the Old Cities. It required practical application for it to really sink in.

“And that means no singing.”

“What? Oh no. I'm not giving up my music. No way. I would rather die,” Jaskier said with more force than he intended as he sat straight up. It was with a horrified kind of fascination that he realized he really meant it. Music was everything. It was a balm to his soul and it had been a barrier to hide behind while he grew up in a family that didn't understand him. The blanket had fallen off his shoulders to pool around his waist and the chill night air blew right through the thin fabric of his shirt. He drained the last of the lukewarm tea. “Maybe it could be useful. I could learn to-”

“If you're hoping that music will tame the savage beast, you'll end up being mauled by the first thing you sing to.”

“The Rusalka liked it,” Jaskier said with a shrug, strangely enjoying the man's flustered and darkening expression. 

“Go to bed.”

“Make me.” Jaskier held his breath, not knowing why he was suddenly trying to provoke him. But when the other man held his gaze steadily and got up to advance on him, he lost his nerve. Scrabbling backwards and tangling himself in the blanket, he fell back off his seat. “Okay, okay. I'm going.” He crawled off to his bedroll and flopped down, bundling himself up in the blanket as he watched the Witcher settle on his knees by the fire. He'd never actually seen him sleep before. Maybe Witchers didn't need to. Settling down, he fell asleep almost immediately.

*******

Jaskier felt everyone's eyes on him as they traveled the next day. He strummed his lute idly, staring defiantly at Geralt who just glowered from where he rode on Roach, but he always stayed in sight now. Playing different cords, he tried out a few lyrics off the top of his head. At first, the rest of the party seemed wary, but they soon relaxed when nothing obviously bad happened. Jaskier started experimenting to see what his music could do.

“How about now?” he asked. 

“For the last time, yes. You're speaking Common,” Vaz said, exasperation tightening his voice as he finally started to lose his patience. “You've been asking me that for an hour. Are you done yet?”

Jaskier looked up at the other man where he sat on his horse riding beside him. “I'm just trying to figure out what's going on and I can't do that unless I practice.” 

“Experimenting with magic is Bad. Capitol 'B' bad.” 

“Why thank you for your experienced technical assessment, good Sir.” Jaskier bowed as he walked.

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were a nervous, self-conscious git,” Vaz muttered.

“You love sass, don't deny it.” Jaskier winked up at him and played a flourish on the lute which made the other man chuckle. Jaskier sobered as his fingers continued to dance over the strings. “But it's weird that I haven't spoken Elder Speech like before. Apparently, it's not just the singing. When it was happening, I couldn't tell the difference between that and Common. It all sounded the same to me.”

“It could have been a ritual,” Brett said, as he walked up beside him. When Jaskier looked at him in surprise, Brett held up his hand. “Look, I'm sorry about last night. I haven't had the best of luck with magic and I didn't think we'd be dealing with it directly on this trip.”

“Sorry.”

Brett shrugged. “Not your fault. You were more freaked out than the rest of us by far, and all I did was give you a hard time.” 

“Brand this moment in your memory, Buttercup. He hardly ever apologizes,” Vaz said. 

Brett glared at him. “That's because I don't need to as often as you do, Sasha.” He said the name with spiteful pleasure as the other man sputtered.

“I will shave you in your sleep,” Vaz hissed as he drew his knife and leaned down threateningly from the saddle.

“Do I need to separate you, children?” Stellan called from the lead wagon without bothering to look back at them. They sneered at each other a moment more before Vaz put the knife away and settled back in the saddle. 

“There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a lovely name.” Jaskier spoke calmly with no hint of sarcasm which seemed to throw the other man off. He eyed Jaskier warily but didn't seem to be able to find any reason to disbelieve him. 

“There's a reason I go by Vaz,” he said.

“I figured.”

“I don't want you to use my first name.”

“Hadn't planned on it.”

“I'm still going to call you Buttercup.”

“I never said you couldn't.”

Brett watched the two of them, laughing softly under his breath and Vaz glared at him again before turning back to Jaskier who was still watching him calmly. “Gods, you're so weird,” he said as he rode ahead to check out the road where it curved around a turn.

“That's going to bug him all afternoon way more than teasing would have,” Brett said with a hint of admiration.

“Isn't it great?” Jaskier grinned. They laughed for a moment before settling in to a steady walk. After a while, Brett spoke again.

“We'll be in Barefield tomorrow,” he said seriously.

“I'll be careful. I don't screw with strangers the way I do with you guys. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not completely stupid.”

“I'm pretty sure Geralt is going to handcuff you to him for the duration of our stay so that won't be a problem.”

“Really?” Jaskier swallowed.

“Well, not really. At least I don't think he will anyway. But he takes his job very seriously. Just listen to what he says and you'll be fine.”

“Alright.” He looked over at Geralt who was riding a few yards ahead of them. If he heard them, he didn't show it. “What did you mean about ritual?” 

“Sometimes, magic requires a ritual to work properly. Mages can usually do without because they manipulate Chaos differently. But people with lower levels of magical talent often use specific things to focus their power.”

“What, like candles and incense?” 

“Sometimes. Along with herbs and drawn symbols. Or blood,” he said, his voice going low. He shook himself a little and blew out a breath. “Did she scratch or bite you?”

“No.” Jaskier flushed when his memory supplied him with visions of some of the other things she had done with her hands and mouth. Brett chuffed a short laugh. 

“Sometimes a ritual can be a dance,” he said, raising his brows meaningfully. “Or some other form of physical activity. Whatever you were doing with her was probably manifesting as some sort of primitive ritual that made your magic rise.”

“I didn't feel any magic rising. Not like you mean. It didn't do anything.”

“Yes it did,” Geralt said from far closer than he had been a few minutes ago. Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Wow, you are really quiet when you want to be.” Jaskier could have sworn he looked smug even if his expression hadn't changed. “What do you mean?”

“Your magic. I could feel it on my skin, like the vibration of a large bell that's been struck.” His lips thinned like he hadn't meant to say so much.

“It was a good thing you did. If you hadn't come riding back into camp like your ass was on fire, we wouldn't even have known he was gone,” Brett said turning back to Jaskier. “He led us in the right direction so we could find you.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt who was glaring at the road ahead of them like it had insulted him somehow. Putting his heels to Roach, he pulled ahead and left them behind. 

“I don't know what it is about you,” Brett said, his eyes on the Witcher.

“What?”

“I've never seen him so agitated before. He's usually like a grunting slab of rock. This is probably the most I've ever heard him speak since I met him two years ago.”

Jaskier watched Geralt's back where he slowed to a more steady pace to talk to Stellan. He'd said Roach had been the one to come back for him after he'd been chased by the Wargs. Now he wasn't quite so sure.


	6. First Performance

Barefield wasn't a huge town, but it was the largest sign of major habitation they'd seen since they started out. They passed farm houses during the early afternoon as they traveled along fields that were tended by hand. A stout, wooden wall circled the town center with gates at either end where the road passed through the middle. There were a handful of sturdy buildings surrounded by smaller, more ramshackle looking constructions that had been thrown up in between. They'd be leaving the wagons with Brett and the driver at a small depot outside of town while the rest of them went through the gates. They'd stay the night in town before resupplying in the morning and moving on. They'd arrived just in time for market day. 

While they were securing their gear at the depot, Geralt came up to Jaskier and held out a sheathed dagger. It was the one that had fallen out of his boot when he'd first gone into the Wood by himself. Jaskier stared at it blankly for a moment, surprised that the other man had kept it. He shook himself and took it, but when he leaned down to put it back in his boot, Geralt grasped his hand and took it back from him.

“It will do you no good tucked inside of your shoes where you can't get to it.” Geralt secured the sheath to the ties of Jaskier's trousers near his hip. The hilt peaked out under the left side of his doublet where it hung open. The Witcher smelled of pine, horses, and sweat. It was a surprisingly pleasing scent and Jaskier had to turn is head away from the distraction. But fingers cupped jaw and tiled his face up so his vision was filled by annoyed golden eyes. “Are you listening to me?”

“Sure,” Jaskier mumbled, not sure why he was suddenly so out of it. 

“Do you know how to use this?” He patted the dagger at Jaskier's hip.

“In theory. The pointy end goes into the other guy.”

Geralt closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. “I will not send you in among other men without a means to defend yourself, but I will take it back if you're just going to end up cutting off your own fingers.”

“I'm not a complete moron,” Jaskier said, pulling out of his grasp and stepping back. He bit his lip. “But I'm not sure if I can actually cut or stab another person.” Just thought made him queasy.

“Sometimes the presence of a weapon is deterrent enough.” Geralt's gaze raked up and down Jaskier's blue doublet and trousers as his frown deepened. “Even if you're dressed to intentionally draw attention to yourself.”

“I'm a bard,” Jaskier said haughtily, putting a hand on his hip and holding out the other in a short bow. “How can I draw an audience if the people cannot find me?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I'm already regretting this,” he muttered.

Hefting his lute before Geralt could regret it enough to take it from him, Jaskier slung it over his shoulder and headed out of the depot towards town. Geralt stalked silently after him, a dark thundercloud of disapproval in his wake. 

“If you scowl any harder, your lovely face will crack,” Jaskier said lightly. He smiled when he heard the other man growl behind him and turned around to walk backward for a moment so he could look at him. “Has it ever occurred to you that people are afraid because you look like you're contemplating murdering everyone within ten feet of you at any given moment?”

Geralt sneered. “Who says I'm not?” 

Jaskier heard a whimper and turned to see a small man scurrying away from them back towards the depot. “See? That's exactly what I mean. We need to change your image. Ooo!” Jaskier clapped his hands and kept pace at Geralt's side as the other man kept walking toward the gate. “I could be your barker!” He spread his arms, his eyes alighting on the Witcher's medallion. “We could give you a new name. The White Wolf, or something.” Jaskier felt inordinately pleased with himself. Maybe this whole bard business wouldn't be so hard.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, breaking his train of thought. The other man had gotten a few steps ahead of him and he'd turned back to beckon him closer. Jaskier stepped up expectantly and was caught by surprise when the Witcher sank his fist into his gut. The wind was knocked out of him in a rush and he was left wheezing and bent over as he tried to catch his breath. He barely felt the lute being taken from him as he was hefted up and slung over Geralt's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Jaskier clutched weakly at the armor on the other man's back as he coughed and struggled to breathe. 

“That. . ,” he wheezed, “was uncalled for,” Jaskier said, his voice barely a whisper as he was carried through the gate towards the center of town. He could barely see anything from this vantage point, and he was left with Geralt's shoulder digging into his middle. They entered a large building and he was finally swung down to sit on the edge of a table. Geralt kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him and handed him the lute while Stellan booked them rooms for the night. The innkeeper flicked his eyes from Jaskier to Geralt.

“My companion is weary from travel,” Geralt said with a shrug and Jaskier tilted his head to glare up at him before turning to the innkeeper and waving him away

“I will recover in but a moment, good Sir,” he said, clutching the lute case tighter to him. 

“You're a bard?” the man asked, his eyes lighting up when he saw the instrument. “If you recover enough to sing, we would be much obliged. It's been a while since we've had any entertainment this way.” He turned to Stellan who looked wary. “It would be half off the rooms and the young master can keep any coin he earns.” 

Stellan turned to Jaskier. “It's up to you.” 

Jaskier hopped down off the table and braced a hand on Geralt's chest to keep steady before offering the innkeeper a nod. “It would be my pleasure. Please allow me a short while to get my bearings and have a meal and I would be happy to perform.” He hoped the other man didn't notice him shaking from nerves. Maybe he'd pass it off as a side effect of being carried in like a sack. They paid for three rooms and headed upstairs. Stellan and Vaz had one room, the professor was by himself, and Jaskier was going to bunk with Geralt across the hall. He stopped in the doorway when he saw only one bed. 

“Um. I'm not sure. . .” 

Geralt curled his fingers in the back of his doublet and hauled him to one side so he could come in and set his gear down. Jaskier sputtered a bit but said nothing as his toes dragged across the floor boards before being set on his feet again, knowing it wouldn't make any difference. He wondered if he'd just have to resign himself to being endlessly manhandled by the other man. 

“You take the bed,” Geralt said, leaning his sword case on the only chair.

“And you'll sleep where?”

“On the floor.”

“But-”

“It's hardly the worst place I've laid my head at night. Worry more about your impending debut.” Geralt said the last word with a scorn. “However ill-advised it may be.”

“I've been playing for the last two days with no issues. It'll be fine.” At least Jaskier hoped it would be. 

Down in the common room the crowd had grown as word of a live bard had spread. Jaskier felt the chicken leg and bread sitting heavily in his stomach and he took another swig of ale to steady himself. Geralt sat at his side, discouraging all who might have come over to make a request or speak to him while they ate which was probably for the best. Jaskier took a few slow, deep breaths to steady himself before picking up his lute and standing. Plastering on his brightest smile, he strummed a few chords to a smattering of applause. Oh Gods, they were all looking at him. 

He started out with something lively, an old folk tune about a farmer and a frog that was simple, but had a pleasing melody. The crowd appeared amused by his choice but a bit bored. So when he was finished, he shifted to a bawdier song about a fishmonger's daughter which got a far more jovial response. They clapped along and laughed as each verse got more lewd. Jaskier chanced a look at Geralt but the other man was watching the crowd, his shoulders relaxed. If there was any magic happening from his music, he didn't show it. 

He went through every song he knew that he'd learned from internet videos made by people who had traveled through the Old Cities. There weren't that many, but the crowd seemed to be winding down as his list dwindled toward the end. A few people had already left to get some rest before market day tomorrow. 

Jaskier felt his fingers starting to pluck out a softer melody that was soothing and a bit sad. He sang of a traveler that happened upon a lonesome maiden by the shore of a river in the woods. Hearts collided and sweetness fulfilled until he left her at the riverside with only memories and smooth pebbles for company. She waited for her next love with baited breath, heart yearning for a voice to break her curse so she could be free of her watery prison. It was left open with no real ending, just waiting and wanting until another day. Jaskier hadn't really thought it through before starting, he just let the the music draw him where it would. 

The room was oddly quiet and he looked around to see everyone staring at him. Geralt's look was passive but there was something odd in his eyes. But before Jaskier could figure out what it was, the tinkle of coins hitting the table in front of him broke the silence and applause broke out. Jaskier grinned and gave a deep bow before collecting his earnings. He headed upstairs to the room with Geralt close behind him feeling a warm glow and a giddy feeling in his belly.

“That's not how it works,” Geralt grumbled when he closed the door behind him.

“How what works?” Jaskier pulled out a leather pouch so he could pocket the coins, leaving a single one out on the table beside the bed.

“The Rusalka. It's not a curse that can be broken like in your song and she'll never walk on land again. It's the malevolent spirit of a dead woman.”

“That's hardly romantic,” Jaskier said, sitting on the bed and digging in his pack for his sewing kit. He wasn't terribly skilled, but he'd need to be able to make minor repairs to his clothes on the road.

“It's the truth.”

“The truth definitely isn't romantic.” Taking the coin, Jaskier loosened the lining of his left boot near the top so he could slip it inside. He carefully sewed it in with the needle and thread before biting off the loose end. 

“What are you doing?”

“Putting a penny in my shoe. For luck.” It was also the first coin to fall on the table. There was a framed credit slip back in his apartment from the very first tip he'd been giving for singing. Nobody used coins or cash in the Modern cities anymore. 

“Luck is a myth, as is Destiny, Fate, and any other superstition people create to make themselves feel better about not having control over their lives.” Geralt moved over to sit in the chair.

“Well aren't we just a Grumpy Gus this evening.” Jaskier ignored the lethal glare shot his way. There was no way he was going to let the other man ruin the pleasant buzz that was still trembling in his system from his very first public performance in the Wood. “Just because you see the world a certain way doesn't mean everybody else has to believe the same thing. What's the harm in letting people believe what they wish?”

“Because it's useless at best. Dangerous at worst.”

Jaskier took off his other boot and drew his legs up to sit cross legged on the bed. “Hope isn't useless,” he said quietly. 

“Who said anything about hope?” Geralt seemed extremely uncomfortable, but not the way he usually was when Jaskier teased and flirted.

Jaskier looked at him feeling more calm than he had all day. “What are Luck and Destiny and Fate if they aren't types of hope? That maybe there is something better, something greater waiting for us?”

A muscle ticked in Geralt's jaw and he opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. Jaskier didn't press him as the other man set out his bedroll on the floor. He settled himself on his back, ignoring Jaskier as he closed his eyes.

“So you actually do sleep? I was wondering.” 

A single golden eye cracked open to glance at him before closing again. “I may be a product of mutations, but my body has the same needs as men,” he rumbled.

“Reeeally?” Jaskier rolled the word in his mouth, drawing it out. He grinned when Geralt turned his head to glower at him. Jaskier raised his hands in surrender before rolling back on the bed so he could slide beneath the covers, pleased that the painful flicker of hopelessness in the Witcher's eyes had faded. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Hn.”

*******

The market was busy as they threaded their way through the crowd. Stellan bargained with a fisherman trying to get him to lower his price for the dried fish he had for sale. Vaz was pulling a small cart that already had a few purchases that would be taken back to the wagons for when they continued on their trip. Geralt was an ever-present shadow at his shoulder. The professor was waiting at the inn, nursing a hangover and they'd pick him up before leaving. 

Jaskier was munching on candied nuts as he looked over the market stalls looking for anything that caught his eye. He'd had a lovely bath before breakfast and he felt clear headed and alert. Apparently, this was the larger monthly market where the surrounding farms and communities gathered together to trade and barter. There was even a traveling tinker and a weapon smith that had set up shops near the local blacksmith. A temporary pen had been set up for piglets and a couple sheep. A boy ran in front of them chasing after an escaped chicken that was clucking it's way to freedom as it flapped through the crowd. The noise of voices and the press of humanity appealed to him. The sounds of habitation was a song that was different every time.

Jaskier jumped when a Vaz's hand snapped out next to him to grip the wrist of a little girl. She stared up at Jaskier, her lip trembling and her eyes filling with tears.

“What the hell, Vaz?”

Vaz heaved a sigh. “Save the waterworks, kid,” Vaz said. “You don't fool me.” He swore as she bit his hand and twisted free to melt back into the crowd. “She almost had your coin purse.”

“Oh.” Jaskier felt a bit stupid for not being more careful. He turned to look at Geralt who was standing behind him calmly. “Where were you?”

“I'm paid to protect your life, not your wallet.”

Jaskier huffed and ate some more nuts. Vaz patted him on the shoulder. 

“You're going to have to keep a better watch, especially in crowds. This should not be a strange concept,” he said as he helped Stellan load the last package. “Thieves are not exclusive to the Wood.”

Jaskier was reminded uncomfortably of the muggers that had attacked him outside the Kingfisher. 

“I didn't mean to scare you, Buttercup. I know you're smarter than that, just not cautious enough.” 

“Don' t patronize me, Vaz. I'm not scared.”

“You didn't see your expression just now,” the other man said.

Before Jaskier could reply, he felt Geralt's hand on the back of his neck, his fingers squeezing lightly as he was steered toward the edge of the crowd. “If we're done shopping and chatting,” the Witcher said, sounding bored. “We should head back to the wagons.” 

It was just as well. Jaskier was no longer in the mood for crowds. The warm hand at the base of his neck was strangely comforting as they headed back towards the inn and he felt its loss as when it was removed. Ernan shuffled out to greet them and when they got back to the depot, he immediately crawled into the lead wagon and went back to sleep. Jaskier sat on the back end with his lute in his lap waiting to get underway. The professor was already snoring.

“What are you running from?” Geralt was standing in front of him looking down with a serious expression on his face. Jaskier hadn't even heard him move.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“It wasn't fear on your face in the market, but you're worried about something. What is it?”

Jaskier glanced at the other wagon where Stellan, Brett, and Vaz were loading supplies. None of them were looking in this direction. “It's nothing.” He huffed when the Witcher sharpened his gaze. “You can glare at me all you want. It's doesn't matter.”

“Will any of your problems follow you into the Wood?” 

“I doubt it.” He wasn't about to tell the other man his real name and what he'd been thinking about before. But Geralt was seemingly satisfied with his answer and he went to get Roach ready to leave. 

“Trouble already followed you, boy,” came a creaky croak from behind him and Jaskier turned to look down at the professor. He was laying on his back with his hands clasped over his middle, his bloodshot eyes slitted against the mid-morning light as he looked up at Jaskier.

“What do you mean?”

“You don't think Dell was really interested in your lute do you?” 

“If I was suspicious of everyone who thought the lute was weird, I'd be a paranoid wreck. He barely said a word to me. Or anyone.”

“He was watching you from the moment you stepped up to the table to sign the waiver.” At Jaskier's horrified look, he waved a an impatient hand. “I wouldn't worry about him too much at the moment. Your Witcher said something to him and he suddenly remembered that he'd left the stove on.”

“What?”

Ernan huffed. “Don't make me repeat myself,” he grumbled. “You appear to be in good hands, but whatever you left behind in Lettenhove isn't quite done with you yet, Mr. Pankratz.”

Jaskier's mouth was suddenly dry and he fought not to leap off the back of the wagon. “How do you know that name?” 

“I was in Lettenhove to study modern engineering and chemistry. Got an invitation to a reception at the company showroom and saw you trying to blend in with the wall. You looked uncomfortable as hell.”

“I'm not overly fond of company functions.” Jaskier swallowed his discomfort. It was like being trotted out as a show pony and he hated it. “Please don't tell anyone. I'm trying to forget all that.”

“As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing to tell and it's no one's business but yours. I care little for politics or the whims of wealthy arseholes. But I'd hate to see talent such as yours spoiled by jealousy or greed. Be careful.” With that, Ernan pulled a blanket out and snuggled into it before falling back asleep. Jaskier was left feeling jittery and anxious. His newfound freedom in the Wood didn't feel quiet so free anymore. Pulling his feet up into the wagon, he settled in to ride when they set out, not feeling up wot walking.


	7. New Friends

Two days later, Jaskier walked along beside the lead wagon, strumming his lute idly and staring ahead. He was working on some lyrics but wasn't having much luck. 

“Why didn't you travel by boat?” 

“What?” Jaskier stilled the strings to look at Brett. 

“Why didn't you travel to Oxenfurt by boat? It would have been faster leaving from Pont Vanis than going overland. This is kind of the long way around.”

“Sure, if I wanted to spend the entire time barfing my guts up,” Jaskier said. “I am a creature of the land.” 

While he enjoyed the coast, he'd been on the water exactly one time while attending a party on Ferrant's yacht. Even with a modern boat on calm seas, he'd heaved up everything he'd eaten that evening, including some atrocious wine Ferrant had overpaid for. He couldn't begin to imagine what an old style sailing ship would do to his insides. 

“Right, then. No boats for you.”

“Besides, I'm not really headed to Oxenfurt. You guys were just headed in that direction. All I wanted to do was go into the Wood and I needed an escort.” Jaskier looked up at the trees and took a deep breath of clean, forest air. He honestly wasn't sure where he was going to go because he hadn't though that far ahead. But he wasn't going to stay with a caravan indefinitely. Once he'd gotten some more experience, he'd be able to travel where he wished on his own. But for now, he was content to stay.

Vaz rode up beside them. “You'll like Oxenfurt. The Academy has a great music program. My niece is enrolled there right now.” 

“Like he needs to learn to play,” Brett scoffed. 

Jaskier plucked out a complicated series of notes, making them both laugh. “I'd rather continue to learn on my own anyway,” he said. “Classes bore me.” He'd had a rough time of it in school and had no desire to revisit that kind of environment, even though he imagined it would be different here. 

“Then what do you plan to do?” Vaz asked him.

Jaskier shrugged. “I dunno. I want to travel. See the world. Experience the best food, the best wine.”

“The best bed partners,” Brett added. “The pretty bards always get laid.”

Jaskier lip curled in a smirk but he didn't deny it. Back in Lettenhove, he'd been free with his love when it had suited him. Sebastian's was not the only heart he'd been drawn to, even though most didn't expect as much from him as he had. Others had been content with a tumble and a smile. The things Brett had listed off were not necessarily the things that had driven him into the Wood, but he had to admit he was a bit hedonistic at heart. He'd just never been able to properly indulge before. 

Every function and every cocktail party he'd been forced to attend in the Modern cities had been full of expectations for Julian Pankratz and his obligations to the family name. He wasn't allowed to truly indulge or enjoy any of it without worrying about how his actions would reflect on the company. Anyone who sought to bed him was more interested in what they could get out of him instead of spending the night in his arms. He found such couplings distasteful. It was always sweeter when his partner had no idea who he was but wanted him anyway. But here in the Wood. . . Jaskier the Bard was free to be whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. He could indulge as he wished without worry of being chastised by rigid, socially restrictive dickheads or pursued by unsavory gold diggers.

Brett's next muttered comment snapped him out of his musings. “Though I must admit, your taste is a bit dangerous.” 

Jaskier's fingers fumbled on the strings for a moment before picking up where he left off. His eyes flicked up to Geralt who was riding ahead of them. He teased and flirted with the Witcher, surely. But it wasn't serious. The man would probably never return any affections offered to him, and if half of the stories were true, he wasn't capable of feeling anyway. But as soon as Jaskier had that last thought, he knew it wasn't true at all. He'd seen emotion in the the man's golden eyes many times since they met. The Witcher had to be more than a century old and living such a long lifetime would probably make anyone guarded. 

And then there was the Rusalka. But he'd been under an enchantment then. Maybe. 

“Ho there!” A new voice called out from ahead of them.

Jaskier saw a small group with their own wagon waiting along side the road up ahead. Six stout, bearded men bristling with weapons were waving, their fearsome appearance softened by the smiles on their faces. 

Stellan waved back. “Yarpen! How have you been?”

“Bored as fuck!” the leader said as he came over to clasp arms with Stellan. “Heard rumor of a dragon east of Barefield and it turned out to be a Wyvern the size of a dog. Bloody, cocksuckers,” he muttered. ”Villagers wouldn't know a dragon if it bit them on the arse.” He laughed, a sharp, barking burst of sound and his fellows joined in.

Jaskier's brows rose as he watched the dwarf spit contemptuously and swear with relish. He was foul mouthed, seemingly bad tempered yet full of humor. He was wonderful. 

“And who's this colorful bird?” Yarpen asked as he set eyes on Jaskier. “I could see him at a thousand paces.”

“This is Jaskier the Bard,” Stellan sad with a nod. “Jaskier, this is Yarpen Zigrin.”

“Adventurer, Warrior, and Dragon Hunter,” the Dwarf said as he spread his arms wide. 

Jaskier gave Yarpen a graceful bow over his lute. “Greetings, Master Dwarf. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Yarpen whistled. “Fancy. Know any Dwarven drinking songs?” 

“I'm afraid not. I'm just beginning my journey and I sorely need to add to my repertoire.” 

Yarpen chuckled. “We'll have to teach you some then, right lads?” The rest of the Dwarves cheered and Jaskier grinned. 

“I'd be delighted.” 

They set off again and the Dwarves' wagon was added to the rear of their party. Brett and Vaz were greeted warmly by the Dwarves. When they greeted Geralt and addressed him with respect, Jaskier could swear he saw the other man relax a little. The Witcher was easily accepted by their new companions and after exchanging pleasantries, they treated him like any other member of the party. Ernan came down off the wagon to walk with the Dwarves, asking them about the mines in Mahakam and the legendary forges there. Stellan spoke with Yarpen where he'd climbed up next to him in the lead wagon.

“How are the roads?” Stellan asked him.

“Beats me. We've been in the mountains for weeks chasing our own tails.” He gripped his staff and brooded. “I suppose I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up. Where are you headed?” He glanced over at Jaskier. “It's been a while since you've done an escort run.”

“To Oxenfurt, eventually,” Stellan replied. “But we'll swing around through Yspaden and Gelibol first.”

Yarpen snorted. “Why? It's a lot faster to stick to the coast and go straight through Blaviken and cross over the Buina.”

“We've goods to deliver to Gelibol, so we're taking the long way around.” Stellan's tone was light, but Jaskier could tell he wasn't saying everything. 

Jaskier glanced back at Geralt where he was riding a little ways behind them. He made no sign that he heard what they were talking about. Were they really delivering something, or were they giving Blaviken a wide berth because of the Witcher and his history there? But Yarpen seemed to accept the given explanation and didn't ask anything else about it. 

“Well, Gelibol is as good an any place to head next,” the Dwarf said. “The South is fucked, though. Nilfgaard is making a nuisance of itself again.”

Stellan snorted. “And how is that different than any other day? Which pretender sits on their throne now?”

“Beats me,” Yarpen shrugged. “They're all the same to me, but I got a letter from my cousin in Belhaven. He said their scouts were moving farther north so he's thinking about coming back up to Mahakam.” 

Vaz rode up beside Jaskier. “Even if they pull their heads out of their asses long enough to put troops in the field, they won't get past into Toussaint. And they definitely won't go against Cintra. They wouldn't dare.”

“Wait, why would Nilfgaard invade either of those places? They're in the Wood,” Jaskier asked him. He was a little confused. Nilfgaard was the largest pocket of technology still present in the southern part of the Continent. What would they gain by invading their magical northern neighbors?

Yarpen spat. “Why does anyone invade anywhere? Greed. Power. The usual motivations of selfish fucks that never have enough of anything. To hell with the lot of them.”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Stellan told him. “We're not going anywhere near there. If you stay in the North, you'll be fine.”

“Bandits and Elves are the biggest issues up here,” Vaz said. “And monsters of course.” 

“What's wrong with Elves?” Jaskier asked. He'd actually been hoping to meet one. Very few left the Wood and those that did were notoriously reclusive.

“Nothing really,” Vaz said, shrugging. “But there are a few rogues that band together to attack humans.” 

“Why?” Jaskier blinked when everyone stopped to look at him in disbelief. “What?”

Brett sputtered. “What kind of History classes are they teaching in Lettenhove?”

“Um, bad ones apparently?” Jaskier shrugged. “Most of the class was spent on the Conjunction and how the city survived. They don't talk about the Wood much. And I wasn't exactly paying attention most of the time.” 

Brett sighed. “Well, trust us when we tell you that they have a reason to be mad.”

Yarpen looked uncomfortable and the Dwarves had all fallen silent. Stellan cleared his throat and urged the horses on. 

“It's best not to dwell on it,” Geralt said, his voice grave. “The past cannot be changed.” 

“But we'll never forget,” Yarpen said. “Fuck Aelirenn. She ruined it for all of us. May there never be another like her.”

Jaskier had never heard of Aelirenn before, but it didn't seem appropriate to ask about her right now. They walked along in solemn silence for the rest of the afternoon.

*******

Their moods had lifted by the time they set up camp that evening and were sitting around the fire feeling more jovial. They'd feasted on fresh venison and fried potatoes with onions. The Dwarves had tapped a keg of strong spirits from their wagon and now they were all drinking, each in a different state of inebriation. Despite emptying an entire mug himself, Geralt remaining clear-eyed and alert. Jaskier felt the pleasant burn of it as he drank and the softness of a light drunk fuzzed his senses. He sat slumped against a smooth rock with his feet stretched out towards the fire. The Dwarves were taking turns singing dirty limericks, each more lewd than the last as they tried to outdo each other. Jaskier laughed and took some notes in his journal, not wanting to forget any of this. Finally, he set down his quill and took another sip of of his drink.

“So tell me about Dragons,” he said. “I didn't think they were real.”

“Oh, they're real alright,” Yarpen said, raising his mug. “Just ask Paulie.” He gestured to one of his companions who lifted up his shirt and leather vest to show ragged scars that raked across his side and disappeared below his waistband over his hip. “Nearly got gutted on our last real hunt.”

“But we got it in the end,” Paulie said as he tucked his shirt back in. “The spoils lasted nearly three seasons.” He pulled out a jagged item that hung on a leather thong around his neck. It looked like a massive tooth that was as long as Jaskier's fingers.

“Dragons are rare.” Geralt threw a twig into the flames from where he sat at Jaskier's elbow. “Mostly they avoid humans.” 

“Well this one was eating every sheep for miles.” Yarpen said with a shrug. “If we hadn't done for it, someone else would have. And oh, what a glorious fight it was.” 

Jaskier listened as the Dwarf settled in to tell a tale that had probably been retold many times and had certainly been exaggerated. But it was entertaining and Jaskier tried to commit the details to memory so he might write a song about it some day. But eventually the fuzziness got stronger and he felt himself getting tired. While he nodded, half awake, he felt something being draped over him. He yawned and curled up on his side under the blanket someone had given him. 

*******

Jaskier woke suddenly to a voice calling out. Adrenaline surged through him and he struggled to rise from under the blanket. It was still dark and the damp chill of the night made him shiver as he looked around. The light of the moon made everything glow with an eerie, pale luminescence. A thin mist was creeping in from the trees, laying low on the ground. Everyone else seemed to be asleep still, except for Geralt who was moving toward the fog. When Jaskier got up to follow him, he whipped around to glare at him. Geralt's eyes were hollow, black voids in his pale face and twining veins of dark color threaded along under his skin. Jaskier's own eyes widened, but not with fear. He reached out a hand towards the other man's cheek before he realized what he was doing. Geralt's glare melted into a confused frown, his nostrils flaring. 

“Stay here,” the Witcher hissed quietly. He physically pushed Jaskier back away from him, breaking whatever self induced spell he was under. Jaskier swallowed and nodded. What the hell was going on? He waited precisely ten seconds after the man was out of sight before going after him. He heard the voice call out again. It sounded young and scared. Whoever it was would probably terrified to see a strange man creeping through the woods with eyes as dark as the abyss. Jaskier quickened his pace. The fog was curling up around his waist now and it was getting hard to see. In a sudden moment of clarity, he realized that he didn't know how to get back to camp.

A light appeared in the fog somewhere ahead of him and he headed toward it. It was probably a torch or a lamp. The fog glowed in the moonlight but all of the shadows were dark and deep. They could be hiding anything. But no matter how far he walked, the light never seemed to get closer. Turning around in a slow circle showed him only forest and shadows. He was well and truly lost now, but calling out into the darkness seemed like a bad idea. The voice he'd heard had been quiet since he'd stepped into the trees.

Something suddenly darted through the fog to his left and Jaskier whirled around. He thought he saw the light bobbing along with it. As he turned again to try and find it, a loose stone turned under his foot, making him tumble backwards. Wicked claws sliced through the air where he'd just been and he heard a guttural hiss. The humanoid shape was hunched over, it's bony, caved-in chest horrible to look at. It's eyes glowed unnaturally in the night as it advanced on him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier's shout sounded muffled in the fog.

Then the thing disappeared into thin air. Jaskier looked around, his head whipping back and forth searching for it. He stumbled to his feet and jumped when an inhuman squeal echoed nearby and went silent. A few moments later, he screamed when a hand gripped his shoulder hard and yanked him around. Jaskier was suddenly face to face with a furious Witcher. 

“What part of 'stay' did you not understand?”

“I don't know if it was the 's' or the 'y',” he said without thinking. His flippant words were at odds with the thundering of his heart. Geralt growled and gripped his doublet, dragging him back out of the woods. The fog had dissipated and Jaskier saw a crumpled body on the ground with its head severed from its shoulders. It had long pointed ears and narrow, evil looking eyes. It wasn't human. “What was that?”

“Foglet.”

When he didn't elaborate, Jaskier huffed. “Okay, what's a Foglet?”

“A monster.”

“I'm aware that it's a beastie that goes bump in the night. But what is it?”

“It almost took your fool head off.” Clearly, Geralt wasn't going to explain any more than that.

“Wait.” Jaskier tried to pull himself out of the other man's grip as he suddenly remembered what woke him up. “There was someone else out here.” 

“It was the Foglet. They use illusions and manipulation to lure idiots out so they can kill and eat them.”

“Oh.” Jaskier relaxed and let himself be pulled along. When they reached camp, Vaz looked up from where he was feeding logs to the fire. He had a prepped crossbow sitting in his lap.

“For fuck's sake,” he muttered. He spread his hands and looked apologetically at Geralt. “We're probably not paying you enough.”

“You're not,” the Witcher agreed as he shoved Jaskier down to sit next to the fire. “He's threatening to become more trouble than he's worth.” 

“He's sitting right here,” Jaskier said impatiently. 

“And you're fucking loud,” Yarpen mumbled sleepily. “Shut the fuck up and go back to bed.”

The three of them looked at the grumbling Dwarf who rolled over and started snoring again immediately. Geralt pulled a small vial glass container of his pack and scooped out some sort of milky syrup before licking it off his finger.. Jaskier watched the veins disappear from his face and his black eyes fade back to their customary golden color. 

“What is that?” Jaskier asked quietly, nodding at the vial. 

“Witcher's potion,” Geralt rumbled. 

Jaskier filed that bit of knowledge away for later. He started shaking but it wasn't entirely from the cold. Pulling his blanket up, he wrapped it around himself and settled beneath it as the the stupidity of what he had just done sank in. He could feel Geralt watching him as he sat at his side, but neither one of them said anything. Huffing a breath, he curled up on his side and tried to go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, Yarpen Zigrin is one of my favorite side characters in the show. Jeremy Crawford is the best and his take on Yarpen makes me smile every time I see him.


	8. Were-What?

The next week passed without incident. They passed through a couple villages and Jaskier performed to small crowds that hadn't seen a bard in several months. They gave him a warm welcome and to his surprise, they shared some of their local music with him. He absorbed the new experiences like a sponge, taking in everything that was offered to him with pleasure and a sense of wonder. This was not what he expected. He thought he'd have to work much harder to earn the admiration of his audience. The immediate response was almost startling. If they hadn't been giving Geralt a wide berth out of fear, he would have thought he was in an alternate reality.

It was early evening now, and the caravan was just rolling into the outskirts of a small hamlet tucked into the edge of a forest. Jaskier was sitting with Stellan in the lead wagon with the lute case tucked between his feet. A man wearing farmers' homespun jogged forward from a nearby field on the outskirts of the town. His expression was somewhat less than welcoming and he had a pitchfork in his hands. 

“You'd best keep moving, travelers,” he told Stellan gravely. “There's a foul beast in these woods, and it's not safe for you.”

Geralt came riding up to the lead wagon with Yarpen walking at his side and pulled up beside them. “What kind of beast?”

“A Witcher,” the man said in surprise. “I. . . didn't expect to see one of your kind.” He sounded oddly worried.

“I go where I'm needed,” Geralt said flatly. 

“Beggin' your pardon, Master Witcher,” he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, but obviously artificial. “We've naught to give you in payment. We'll get by. The Gods are certainly mocking us by sending the answer our prayers without the means to offer compensation.”

“Describe the contract. I'll decide what my time is worth.”

The man shifted nervously and licked his lips. “There's no contract. We're not looking to hire you. People are getting attacked, but it's only non-humans and travelers from Outside who stay here, which is why you'd best move on.” He tripped over his words a little bit.

“Outside?” Jaskier asked with a frown.

The man tilted his head and eyed him like he was slow. “From the Modern Cities,” he said. “Outside the Wood like yourself.”

Was it still that obvious? Jaskier sat back in the wagon and reached down to curl his fingers around the strap of his lute case. He heard Geralt mutter something under his breath. With his luck, this thing was going to come after him and judging by Geralt's reaction, he thought the same.

“When was the most recent attack?”

“About three weeks ago. We laid the poor bastard to rest, but there wasn't much left of him.” The man shrugged. “It's hardly worth your time. It's been going on for months, but when travelers stopped staying here, the attacks stopped.”

“What's this nonsense?” Yarpen asked, spitting to the side. “We just came through here two months past and there was nary a word of any monster on the loose.”

“It's our business, Dwarf,” the man said, his tone chilling. “It didn't concern you because you went on your way without stopping.”

The Dwarf scoffed, his grip tightening on his staff but didn't say anything.

“Show me the site of the attack,” Geralt said, ignoring the growing animosity. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Like I've said, we've no payment to give you,” the man said, waving him away. 

“I'm already under contract and this will be included by the payment I'm already receiving,” Geralt rumbled, irritation clear in his voice.

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest that this wasn't part of the bodyguard contract. While his first thought had been that the thing was going to attack him, he hadn't really been serious. It was a ridiculous thought. There was no reason to think that he'd be attacked just because he wasn't from here. But Stellan nudged him with an elbow before he could say anything, so he just sat quietly.

“When then, uh . . .bless you, Master Witcher,” the man said, stumbling over his obviously false gratitude. “We'll be forever grateful if you're able to help.” He seemed to be laying it on a bit thick. He obviously didn't like Geralt or Dwarves in general. But while he'd been respectful enough at first, his faux politeness had just gone through the roof. Geralt just grunted and turned to Jaskier.

“Stay with Vaz and don't leave his side. Do _not _go anywhere on your own.”__

__Jaskier curled his lip but didn't say anything as he slumped in his seat, crossing his arms sullenly. He didn't care that he looked like a grumpy child. There was a small part of him that was mildly terrified of being torn apart and left on the roadside. But he desperately wanted to see whatever it was. Oh, the stories he could tell of a beleaguered town under threat from a mysterious beast and the mighty Witcher that hunted it down for the safety of travelers on the road. It was hardly worth his time to sing about being left behind with the babysitters._ _

__“Go off to your Witchering, Geralt,” Yarpen said, not taking his eyes off of the man from the village. “The lad's hardly alone.”_ _

__“It would be best if the rest of you kept moving,” the man said as he tried not to be intimidated. “There's no need to put our little town in danger with your presence.”_ _

__“No worries,” Stellan said evenly. “We have no interest in causing trouble.” He exchanged a look with Geralt and started the wagon moving while the Witcher followed the man off into the field._ _

__They traveled through the small town that showed signs of habitation, but was surprisingly quiet. A couple people nipped inside, flicking their fingers at the party in a sign Jaskier didn't recognize. Others closed their shutters. The wagons moved on quietly into the woods on the far side, moving along for nearly an hour before stopping. They pulled off into a small clearing out of sight of the road and set up camp for the night. But to Jaskier's surprise, they didn't start a fire as they ate a quick meal while twilight fell over the trees around them._ _

__“What's going on?” he asked._ _

__Yarpen looked up at him from where he was peering into the trees. Darkness was swiftly falling and it was getting harder to see anything. “That cocksucker was full of shite,” he spat. “Monster my arse. They're probably murdering people themselves.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“You really didn't buy all that codswallop about something attacking non-humans and Moderns, did you? Monsters aren't picky. Unlike some humans, they don't discriminate.”_ _

__“Are we safe here?”_ _

__“Don't you worry, Laddie,” Yarpen said and patted Jaskier hard on the back. “We'll not let anything happen to you.”_ _

__Vaz snorted. “Be careful what you're offering, Yarpen. That's a much more difficult job than you would think.”_ _

__“Fuck off, Vaz,” Jaskier huffed, suddenly tired. He was surprised by the level of disappointment he felt that there might not be an actual monster. As terrifying as the Foglet had been, he still wanted to see more of the world that was becoming his home. He was well versed in the monstrous deeds of humanity which made for far less romantic subject matter._ _

__“Enough.” Stellan came back into the clearing from the road. “We'll make a cold camp here and wait for Geralt before moving on at first light. Brett, you have first watch. Professor, stay in the lead wagon. You should be fine.” Ernan nodded and disappeared back into the wagon with his blanket while the other wagon driver settled underneath._ _

__“We're staying even though there's a risk?” Jaskier looked around, straining his eyes to see through the growing gloom._ _

__“It's not safe to travel at night anyway,” Vaz said as he pulled out his bedroll and and started to settle under the center wagon. “Get your shit and come here.”_ _

__“Are we snuggling tonight?” Jaskier asked him sweetly. The Dwarves chuckled as they set their own watch and got ready to settle in._ _

__“Jaskier.” Stellan's tone was the patient voice of a father keeping his unruly children in line. It was long suffering, but not putting up with any bullshit. Jaskier sighed and stowed his lute in the wagon before pulling out his own bedroll and getting down under the wagon with Vaz. He didn't like having the heavy weight of the vehicle hovering above him. He felt the tight grip of claustrophobia squeezing him and it started to become harder to breathe. Jaskier turned onto his side so he could look out on the clearing. He had to take slow, calming breaths so he wouldn't start hyperventilating._ _

__“Are you okay?” Vaz asked him quietly._ _

__Jaskier shrugged before realizing it was too dark for the other man to see him. “Yeah. I just like being able to see the stars, is all.” He didn't want to get into how deeply uncomfortable he was right now._ _

__“We'll be out of here in the morning.”_ _

__Jaskier just grunted a response that was more typical of Geralt than himself. He lay awake for quite a while, unable to sleep. He wasn't sure how long it would take for Geralt to check out the attack site or if he'd start hunting the thing right away. If it was indeed a monster. The Witcher had yet to actually go on a proper hunt while traveling with the caravan, so Jaskier had no idea what that actually entailed. The Foglet seemed to have been an anomaly. And he wanted to see what had made Geralt's eyes change like that. He shifted as his bladder started to make itself known and tried to ignore it. But it soon became an issue and he started to move out from under the wagon. Vaz reached out to snag his doublet._ _

__“Let go,” Jaskier whispered irritably. “I have to piss.”_ _

__“Take Brett with you,” came the sleepy reply as he was released. Jaskier rolled his eyes as he crawled out and stood up, but he looked around in the gloom to find the other man. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Brett landed lightly beside him from where he'd been perched in the wagon's seat._ _

__“Fuck,” he breathed. Brett just patted him on the shoulder. Jaskier did his best to slow his thumping heart and glanced around the camp. He didn't see Geralt or Roach. “Is Geralt back yet?” he asked, still whispering. It seemed wrong to break the stillness of the night by talking out loud._ _

__“Not yet. But even if he's not back when we head out, he'll catch up. Don't worry.”_ _

__Jaskier blew out a breath and headed into the bushes to relieve himself. When he finished, he stopped to listen. It had suddenly become incredibly quiet which instantly put him on alert. The last time the forest went this silent, he'd been attacked by Wargs._ _

__“Jaskier,” Brett hissed quietly from somewhere behind him. “Come here.”_ _

__A low growl curled through the air in the trees in front of Jaskier, making him shiver. But it was a lower sound than the what he remembered hearing before. He started backing away slowly, holding his breath to keep from making any noise. But a branch snapped loudly under his foot, making the thing shift suddenly in the bushes. He froze, biting back a whimper as a hand wrapped around his wrist._ _

__“Easy,” Brett murmured, squeezing his wrist gently. “Fuck!” He dragged Jaskier back suddenly as something lunged at them. Brett threw them both clear of the thing's claws as they whistled past Jaskier's ear, the air of it's passage ruffling his hair. “Threat in the trees!” Brett yelled as she scrambled up, dragging Jaskier with him. An answering call rose from the wagons nearby as people started to wake. They fell again as the thing caught them. It knocked Brett away and ripped the sword from his hand. Brett hissed in pain before he was struck by something Jaskier couldn't see and went silent._ _

__“Brett!” Jaskier cringed as the thing turned on him. He couldn't see much in the dark except for green feline eyes and lots of teeth. He screamed as it went for him and he landed on his back on the thick carpet of leaves with the thing's weight pinning him down. Claws dug into his chest and he thought he felt them start to slice into his skin but wasn't sure. He was too scared to feel much. It leaned in close and he turned his head to the side as he felt its fetid breath across his face. “Niiiice kitty,” he whimpered._ _

__It huffed a few short breaths against his throat and if he didn't know better, he'd say it was laughing. As the sound of others grew closer, if moved off of him and Jaskier was lifted up off the ground like he didn't weigh anything. He was tucked under the creature's arm where it gripped him around his middle. He grasped at its arm, finding corded muscle covered in silky fir as he tried to struggle his way free. The muscles under his hands bunched, trembling in preparation to move like it was going to lunge away._ _

__“Wait. . .!” Jaskier trailed off in a startled cry as it clawed its way up the nearest tree before running across a thick branch and leaping across to another. Jaskier felt another cry ripped from him as they hung weightlessly over open air before falling quickly again. His heart leaped up into his throat and then their descent was stopped suddenly by landing on the ground, the force of the movement knocking the wind from him. It continued stalking through the underbrush, it's height tall enough that the tip of Jaskier's boots were hanging in midair without touching the ground. Jaskier had no illusions that he could bargain with a monster, but there had been intelligence in those eyes._ _

__“Please let me go,” he wheezed._ _

__The arm around his middle tightened, making him gasp as it became harder to breathe. The beast stopped suddenly, letting out a growling huff as it cupped Jaskier's jaw with its other hand and lifted his head up. Jaskier felt the prick of claws extending to dig lightly into his skin of his neck. It could easily rip out his throat just by twitching. He shuddered with relief as he saw Geralt step out of the trees in front of them. His golden eyes took in Jaskier hanging the monster's hold before flicking up to glare at the beast._ _

__“Release him,” Geralt growled. “I have no quarrel with you.”_ _

__“Back away Witcher.” The monsters voice twisted around it's large teeth, but the words were easily understandable. “He'll be returned to you when you leave the area.”_ _

__“Unharmed.”_ _

__“Unharmed,” the monster agreed._ _

__Geralt lowered his sword. “I will hold you to your word.”_ _

__The monster nodded and lowered its claws._ _

__“Wait just a minute!” Jaskier gasped when it appeared he wouldn't be killed immediately. He squirmed in the monster's grip and blinked at Geralt in disbelief. “You're not going to fight it?”_ _

__“Right now, I'm more interested in your safety than its death.” Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment before looking back up at the beast holding him. “I can always come back later.”_ _

__“That would be unwise,” the beast said with a rumbling growl._ _

__“What if we promise to just leave? You can. . .urnf-” Jaskier broke off in a grunt as strong fingers gripped the back of his neck and pushed his head down._ _

__“I will leave him by the road a day's ride south from here. It's in your best interest to collect him and move on.” The beast shifted to leave but paused before doing so. “This would not have been necessary if you had just left like you'd been asked.” With that, his muscles bunched again and he moved upward, clawing at the bark to drag them both into the air again._ _

__“Geralt!” Jaskier watched his golden gaze recede until he couldn't see him anymore._ _

__The growing sound of shouting was fading quickly until Jaskier could hear nothing but the rush of wind blowing past his ears. He couldn't believe it. Since when did Witchers negotiate? He'd felt warmth pool in his belly when Geralt said he was more interested in seeing him safe than killing it, but he was being paid to protect him. Obviously it hadn't meant anything more than that. He grunted as they landed hard on a branch and Jaskier could feel his middle bruising. They were moving fast enough to make him dizzy, but closing his eyes made it worse._ _

__“If we don't stop, I'm going to throw up,” he said weakly. But instead of slowing down, he felt a sharp pinch against his neck that made everything fade._ _

__*******_ _

__When Jaskier woke, he was sitting propped up against a large tree trunk. Light was filtering through the trees and it looked to be nearly midday. He lifted his head slowly, rubbing at the soreness in his neck, pleased to find his arms free. And then he looked down and let out a startled yelp as adrenaline flooded through him. He was sitting on a wide branch, leaning back against the trunk nearly thirty feet in the air. If thick coils of rope hadn't been tied around his waist securing him to the tree, he probably would have fallen._ _

__“Whoa!” Jaskier righted himself and clutched at the ropes, pressing himself back in the trunk. Sitting on a branch in the tree across from him was the beast that had abducted him. It blinked at him calmly with canny green cat eyes. It's humanoid, yet distinctly feline form was covered in inky black fur where it lounged, casually watching him. It had a large muzzle and as its lips curled in a cheeky grin, he caught a glimpse of large, sharp teeth._ _

__“You could have left me on the ground,” Jaskier griped before he could stop himself._ _

__The creature's brows rose in a strangely human expression of disbelief. “I could also have killed you,” it said._ _

__“Well, you didn't so you probably won't.” Or at least he hoped he wouldn't. He rubbed a hand over his chest and hissed at the sharp sting of scabs pulling open. Apparently, it really had clawed him, but he couldn't lift up his clothes to examine the wounds. “How long was I out?”_ _

__“Several hours. It was far more preferable to listening to you whine the entire way.”_ _

__“Oh, I'm so terribly sorry,” Jaskier said, his voice laden with sarcasm and annoyance. “Forgive me for being rude while I was being kidnapped.”_ _

__The large cat-beast crept forward, claws extended and fangs bared. It leaped lightly over to Jaskier's branch to lean menacingly over him. Jaskier could feel its breath on his face and he couldn't stop himself from trembling. But he looked it in the eye and held its gaze._ _

__“You could use a mint,” he said._ _

__There was another breathy huff that could have been laughter. “You are bold for an Outsider.” It leaned in again to scent him, panting with its mouth slightly open. “But perhaps not so much from the Outside. Your blood is old,” it said with a purr. Jaskier really hoped that didn't equate to tasty._ _

__“You're not going to eat me, are you?”_ _

__“Pffph. I do not eat people. They taste terrible.” It reached up behind Jaskier to grasp something and brought his lute down from an upper branch so he could push it into his hands._ _

__“You stole my lute?” he asked incredulously._ _

__“I thought it would help to pass the time. Your Witcher will not arrive for several hours yet.”_ _

__“He's not mine,” Jaskier huffed._ _

__“His scent says otherwise.” The cat gave him a toothy smile. “Goodbye, bardling.” And then it left him to claw its way down the tree._ _

__“Wait! What does that mean?” Jaskier craned his neck out to watch it descend to the ground but it didn't answer him before gliding into the underbrush and out of sight. He could see the road running right under his tree, so at least it had kept its word. Sort of. “Hello? Is there anyone out there?” His shout echoed through the trees but there was no reply. “Well, fuck,” he muttered._ _

__Pulling the lute out of the case, he looped the instrument's strap securely over his shoulder. The case tumbled out of his lap before he could grab it, and he watched it tumble down towards the ground where it landed with a soft thump. He drew a deep breath to calm himself and started to sing to take his mind of how high he was off the ground. The notes rang out through the trees, calming him and bringing the forest back to life after being so quiet in the presence of the beast. Time passed relatively quickly and he found himself lost in the music as the sun dipped lower in the sky to create long shadows along the ground. He was interrupted by someone clearing their throat from somewhere below. Jaskier stopped playing and looked down to see Geralt staring up at him._ _

__“Lovely day, isn't it?” he said with a grin._ _

__Geralt sighed and shook his head. “Are you alright?” he asked._ _

__“Aside from being abducted by a cat monster and then tied to a tree thirty feet in the air, I'm just peachy.”_ _

__“Are you _hurt _?” Geralt growled, obviously having less patience than usual.___ _

____“No.” Jaskier blew out a breath. Well, he wasn't anymore. The sting of wounds on his chest had faded. “Where is everyone else?”_ _ _ _

____“A few hours behind. Once I get you down, I'm taking you ahead to Yspaden and we'll wait for the them. They're going to take a detour to the west and then meet us a day or two later.”_ _ _ _

____“Well the flaw in your plan seems to be the first part. We're not going anywhere unless Witchers know how to fly.”_ _ _ _

____“Jump down and I will catch you.”_ _ _ _

____Jaskier laughed in disbelief. “Sure.”_ _ _ _

____“Jaskier. . .”_ _ _ _

____“Even if that's possible, I can't get down by myself.” Jaskier twisted as much as he dared, but his fingers only found smooth coils of rope. He had no idea where the ends were. With his luck, they were probably on the other side of the tree. “I'm tied to the tree and I can't reach the knots,” he said finally._ _ _ _

____There was a growl from down below. “Cut yourself free.”_ _ _ _

____“I uh. . .don't have my knife,” Jaskier told him hesitantly._ _ _ _

____“Throw down the lute then.”_ _ _ _

____“I most certainly will not.” Jaskier clutched the lute to him. “I saved for six months to be able to afford this.”_ _ _ _

____“If I'm going to get you down, I can't guarantee that it won't be damaged. And trust me when I tell you I have no interest in listening to you whine if anything happens to it. I will make sure it's safe.”_ _ _ _

____Jaskier weighed his options and realized he had no choice. “Alright, fine.”_ _ _ _

____Gingerly pulling the strap over his head, Jaskier held out the lute and said a small prayer to Nehaleni for luck before letting it go. He didn't dare watch it fall, but he didn't hear it hit the ground either. When he looked down, he saw Geralt tucking it carefully into the case. Letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Jaskier relaxed. Geralt pulled off his sword belt and set it down next to the lute._ _ _ _

____“You really should keep your knife on you at all times,” Geralt said._ _ _ _

____“I had gotten up to pee when I got grabbed. I don't sleep with it.”_ _ _ _

____“You should.”_ _ _ _

____“And accidentally stab myself in my sleep? No, thank you.” Besides, he wasn't that paranoid yet. “Is Brett okay?”_ _ _ _

____“He's fine.” Geralt said from somewhere out of sight. There was a grunt and the scrape of boots on bark. After a few minutes, Geralt appeared on the branch where the cat-beast had been sitting._ _ _ _

____“What was that thing?”_ _ _ _

____“Werecat.”_ _ _ _

____“Like a Werewolf?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, like a Werewolf,” Geralt muttered as he leaped over to Jaskier's branch. Jaskier clamped his legs around the branch he was sitting on to keep his balance as the other man pulled out his own knife and cut the ropes. They slithered to the ground and Jaskier suddenly felt vulnerable now that there wasn't anything holding him against the tree._ _ _ _

____“I don't think I'm going to be able to climb down the way you came up.”_ _ _ _

____“I don't expect you to,” Geralt said as he knelt in front of him and slipped his arm behind Jaskier's back. “Relax your legs, I've got you.” His voice was strangely quiet._ _ _ _

____“You can't actually fly, can you?” Jaskier met Geralt's exasperated gaze. “I was just asking. I'm. . .really, kinda scared right now.” He sat carefully still as the other man rested their foreheads together._ _ _ _

____“Do you trust me?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” Jaskier said immediately, his voice barely a whisper. He did, implicitly, even though he wasn't sure why. But before he could think about why he would ask him that, Geralt pulled him close and shoved himself backwards, taking Jaskier with him. An undignified scream left Jaskier's throat as they plummeted to the ground. He clutched at the Witcher's armor, shutting his eyes tight as he felt the buffeting push of magic roll over him. A huge gust of wind whipped up around them, tugging at their clothes and hair. He lay shaking in Geralt's arms where they both lay on the ground after an impact that should have been much harder. A hand rubbed gently up and down his back in an oddly soothing gesture while he gathered his wits._ _ _ _

____“What the fuck?” he asked shakily after a few moments._ _ _ _

____“You're fine.” Geralt extracted himself from under Jaskier and pulled him to his feet, keeping a hand on his shoulder while he got his balance. There was a giant sunburst pattern in the dirt splayed out from where they stood in the center._ _ _ _

____“What was that?”_ _ _ _

____“A Witcher Sign. Wasn't entirely sure it would work.” Geralt looked around at the dirt and then back up at the tree. “Eskel owes me fifty crowns.”_ _ _ _

____“Who's Eskel?” Jaskier asked as he retrieved his lute and tried to ignore that he'd just been used in a potentially deadly experiment that could have broken both their necks._ _ _ _

____Geralt frowned at him, like he hadn't realized he'd spoken that last part out loud. “Another Witcher in my guild.” He took the lute from Jaskier and picked up his sword before attaching the instrument to the saddle and settling the weapon on his back. “Can you actually ride?”_ _ _ _

____“Why didn't you ask me that the first time you hauled me up onto your horse?” Jaskier was surprised to see his pack and bedroll included in the gear Roach carried._ _ _ _

____“Yes or no?” Whatever gentleness Geralt had displayed before was gone now and his face held its customary glower. Geralt's eyes tracked down his clothing and his nose twitched, but he didn't say anything._ _ _ _

____“Yes, I can ride. I've been taking lessons for years.” While he'd never had a horse of his own, he'd made sure he knew how to ride before coming into the Wood._ _ _ _

____“Then get in the saddle so we can get moving.”_ _ _ _

____“At night?” Darkness was falling quickly under the trees. Jaskier ran a hand along Roaches neck when she nuzzled him before putting his foot in the stirrup and mounting._ _ _ _

____“With a Werecat in the area, there won't be any other predators nearby. I plan to put as much distance as possible between us and it before making camp.”_ _ _ _

____Geralt shifted the saddlebags before mounting behind him. He reached around and took the reigns from Jaskier before urging the horse forward. Jaskier found himself tensing with nerves as the other man's arm came around him. He had to force himself to relax. The horsepinesweat smell of him was incredibly strong this close. And it wasn't unpleasant._ _ _ _

____“So you're really not going after the Werecat?” Jaskier asked after riding for a while._ _ _ _

____“There's no contract, so there's no point.”_ _ _ _

____“But people have died.” Jaskier wished he could see the other man's face. It was difficult to have a conversation when he couldn't really see him_ _ _ _

____“People die everyday. If they don't linger in the village, they should be fine.”_ _ _ _

____“But why would it only target non-humans and people from the Modern Cities? By definition, the Werecat isn't human even if it can probably turn into one.”_ _ _ _

____“Prejudice isn't exclusive to any single group. Hatred is hatred. Evil is evil. People waste a lot of time trying to justify both, but it doesn't change who or what they are.”_ _ _ _

____Jaskier didn't really have much to say about that as he settled in to ride. The Witcher had probably seen his share of hatred and evil in his travels._ _ _ _

____The movement of Roach's gate and the warmth of the man behind him lulled Jaskier into a kind of half sleep and his head lolled on Geralt's shoulder. He roused when he felt the other man climb down and put a hand on his hip to steady him before getting some of the gear down from behind the saddle. Jaskier blinked at him sleepily, seeing that it was fully dark now as Geralt set out one of the bed rolls. He came over to pull him from the saddle and gently push him down onto it. Jaskier flopped down bonelessly, desperate for real sleep. He didn't feel the blanket that was draped over him as he drifted off._ _ _ _


	9. Rain Soaked Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments. It warms my heart to hear that people are enjoying the story and the original characters I've included. I've been living and breathing this universe for weeks now and I've come to love it so much. I love being able to share it.

When Jaskier woke, he was starving. Morning sun was shining through the trees and birds were chirping merrily in the branches above him. Geralt was sitting beside a small fire turning rabbits on a spit and there was a kettle of water on. There was a stream burbling over the rocks next to them and the thick bushes gave them some shelter from the road. It was a fairly picturesque spot, all things considered. 

“Am I allowed to pee by myself?” Jaskier asked him.

“Just scream like a frightened child if you need anything,” the other man said without looking up at him.

Jaskier flipped him off before retreating behind a tree to take care of himself before coming back and grabbing his pack. He took out a clean chemise, and a bar of soap so he could quickly scrub himself clean in the cold water of the stream. Jaskier paused when his fingers traced over the thin, pink lines on the left side of his chest, laying the fingers of his right hand over them. The Werecat must have clawed him when it landed on him. If it had clenched its fist, it probably could have ripped his heart out right through his ribs. Fumbling for his doublet and the shirt he'd been wearing, he saw matching tears in the fabric and swore. He hoped he could have a hot bath soon and get a chance to have his clothes properly laundered. And repaired. Pulling on the clean chemise and leaving it loose, he carried his doublet back to to the fire.

“Is there anything special that I need to know about Yspaden?” Jaskier asked as he sat and accepted a rabbit haunch and a piece of bread. 

“It's a city.” 

“So descriptive.”

“It's smaller than Barefield but larger than the shit hole we just left behind.”

“Better,” Jaskier said as he pulled the boiling pot off the fire and rummaged around in his bag for a his pouch of coffee. He took out one of the prepped cloth bundles and dropped it in his mug before pouring hot water over it. “Do you know if they have a tailor?”

“I'm not being paid to take you shopping.” Geralt's nose twitched as the smell of brewing coffee flooded the camp.

“I'm sure the list of things you're not paid to do is long and varied, but I need someone who's better with a needle and thread than me.” Jaskier held up his doublet and thrust his finger through one of the numerous holes made by the Werecat's claws. 

“Any lasting damage?” Geralt asked, his expression darkening. “I could smell the blood on you under the Werecat stink, but it was old and dry.” He looked up to catch Jaskier's gaze with a serious look. “Hiding injuries from me is unwise. You said you weren't hurt.”

“I was a little preoccupied by being tied to the top of a tree and wondering how to get down without breaking my neck.”

“Well, you seem to have healed already as you did with the Warg bite,” Geralt murmured as he pulled out a knife and started sharpening it. “That's a handy trick.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I don't know how I'm doing it. It's not a conscious thing.” Jaskier was beginning to worry about the number of scars we he was acquiring on this journey. “Is this normal?” he asked him.

“In what sense?”

“Well, I seem to be something of a monster magnet. Is it normal to cross paths with magical beasts this often?”

“Most humans encounter at least one type of magical monster in their lives while living in the Wood and the Old Cities. But no, it's not normal for it to happen this often. But then again, neither are you.”

“So I've been told,” Jaskier said, pulling the coffee bundle out of the mug and blowing on the liquid to cool. He thought about what the Werecat had said about his blood. And about Geralt being his Witcher. But he didn't feel comfortable enough to share that last observation just yet. He had a feeling the other man wouldn't take it well. 

“Are you sure you don't remember your parents?” Geralt asked him.

“I remember them. My mom died when I was young, and my dad was still around until three years ago when he dropped dead of a heart attack. It's my mom's family I don't remember. She and I traveled into the Wood to visit them, but I'm not sure where we went. I can't remember much of the trip.” 

He hadn't shed a single tear when his father died. If anything, he'd been relieved of the awful pressure bearing down on him every time the man looked in his direction. He'd tried to run his life and make every decision for him, possessively holding him close to a family that wanted nothing to do with him. It was after his death that Jaskier had finally dropped out of the private school he'd been enrolled in and started to study music at the public university. The family considered it quite the scandal still. But as long as he didn't make a spectacle of himself and didn't end up in the tabloids, they mostly left him alone now. Except for Ferrant of course, who kept trying to reign him in. But he didn't have the balls to really push him around the way Jaskier's father had.

“Do you remember _your _parents? I mean, you weren't born a Witcher, were you?” Jaskier almost regretted the question when Geralt's lips thinned. That man was far older than him. Maybe he didn't remember his childhood. Jaskier sipped his coffee and immediately burned his tongue.__

__“No. Witchers are made, not born.” Geralt sheathed the knife and started gathering up his things. “Finish up and we'll head out.”_ _

__Jaskier added some water from his water skin to cool his coffee enough to gulp it down so he could pack up his gear. He folded up the torn shirt and put it in his pack before pulling on the torn doublet. He left the silver outfit safely packed away. No need to get that one torn to shreds by the next monster that was sure to attack him somewhere down the road._ _

__Geralt set a steady pace on the road, riding Roach while Jaskier walked alongside him. Jaskier was content to walk with the lute case slung over his shoulder. The forest was thicker here with tall trees looming above them and shading the sun that started to rise. But by midday, clouds were rolling in and the trees were thinning out, their trunks getting smaller and more twisted as the ground around them became damp and spongy. The road rose a little above the wet terrain, leaving a dry, hardened path through the mire. But it only stayed dry temporarily. Jaskier pulled out a cloak from his pack and threw it over himself and the lute on his back, just before the rain started to fall. The gloom made the increasingly swampy surroundings more foreboding. It was gray on gray with everything dripping wet._ _

__“This is lovely,” he said from beneath his hood._ _

__Geralt didn't say anything from under his own dark cloak. It made his form much larger, like a specter of death floating through the forest on its way to mete out judgment on the creatures that plagued humanity. Jaskier's fingers itched to write down his thoughts and cursed the rain. But even if he wrote a song, he didn't think he'd be able to sing it for anyone. He didn't need to make Geralt appear darker and more ominous than he already did. People were already afraid of Witchers and he didn't need to add to it._ _

__The rain was a wash of sound in the background as water started to gather on each side of the road, making it look like they traveled a long, thin island. Small lights appeared among the stunted trees, dancing around the tufts of marsh grasses. They'd occasionally come closer before dwindling into the distance again as if beckoning Jaskier forward to follow them, their teasing movements making him nervous._ _

__“Geralt?” He pointed out over the water when the other man turned to him._ _

__“Ignore them,” Geralt rumbled over the rain. “Stay on the road. Do _not _leave my side.”___ _

____“Hadn't planned on it. But are they dangerous?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes.”_ _ _ _

____When the other man didn't say anything to clarify, Jaskier shifted closer to the horse, his shoulder nearly brushing Geralt's knee. They continued traveling through the afternoon through the miserable rain until they finally cleared some of the swamp lands. Jaskier was glad to leave them behind along with the lingering sense of unease that had been hovering over him since the lights started their dance. They passed through the treeline and came out to a gentle grassy slope that led down to a wide river. The rain made its surface a ripping, distorted mirror of the clouded sky._ _ _ _

____There was a dock with a ferry that had a single man pulling in some of the lines. The ferryman looked up at their approach and gestured them closer. He seemed unfazed by the rain, seemly at ease in his sodden clothes. The hooded cap he wore kept the worst of it off his grizzled, but welcoming face._ _ _ _

____“Come on” He said over the patter of rain as he waved them over. “You're in luck. This is my last crossing for the day and the nearest shallows are a few miles downriver.”_ _ _ _

____Geralt dismounted and led Roach onto the low, floating platform before passing the man a coin. Jaskier followed him and patted the horse's neck as she settled. The ferryman tucked the coin away and pushed off, sending them slowly across the water. It would take them a bit to cross._ _ _ _

____“Rain's not going to let up until sometime tomorrow probably,” the ferryman said. “The Twin Barges is a clean inn and has a good stable out back if you're inclined to stop for the night.”_ _ _ _

____“We'd be delighted, good Sir,” Jaskier said with a small bow. “We thank you for the recommendation.”_ _ _ _

____Geralt merely grunted, and Jaskier could swear he heard him roll his eyes._ _ _ _

____“Don't you start,” Jaskier told him as he huddled under his cloak. “I am not traveling in the rain at night.” He turned back to the ferryman. “Please don't mind my companion. He's allergic to manners.”_ _ _ _

____The man shrugged. “Witchers aren't exactly known for their courtly behavior, young sir. Beggin' your pardon, Master Witcher,” he added when Geralt glowered at him. “I appreciate what you do and as far as I'm concerned, you provide a valuable service few are able to offer. Not sure why everybody makes such a fuss of it.”_ _ _ _

____“People fear what they don't understand,” Geralt said, looking out over the water. Jaskier watched Geralt brood for a moment before turning back to the ferryman._ _ _ _

____“I do hope the rest of your fair village is as open minded as you. We've not had the best of luck as of late.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course. A few may be a bit nervous. Living next to a swamp is rough on the nerves when the weather is like this. But we're mostly a welcoming lot, unlike those racist fuckers north of here,” he muttered before holding his hand out to Geralt. “Name's Hovdyr.”_ _ _ _

____The Witcher hesitated only for a moment before grasping his hand. “Geralt of Rivia.”_ _ _ _

____If the man recognized the name, he didn't show it. “Pleased to meet you, Sir,” he said before shaking with Jaskier._ _ _ _

____“Jaskier. Troubadour and traveler. Seeker of stories, and lover of adventure. I'm honored to make your acquaintance.”_ _ _ _

____Hovdyr chuckled in amusement. “The young ones are always a bit too eager, aren't they,” he said to Geralt._ _ _ _

____“Hmm.” Noncommittal grunts seemed to be Geralt's favorite response._ _ _ _

____Jaskier huffed, but refused to be ruffled. Despite everything that had happened on this trip, he was having the time of his life even when he was frightened or in danger. They stood in a relatively comfortable silence for the rest of the ferry ride. When they reached the other side of the river, Hovdyr secured the ferry and walked with them a mile or so into town up to the door of the inn. A young boy no more than eight or nine years old came running out from around the back._ _ _ _

____“Aunt Cecily was looking for you earlier, Uncle.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, dear,” Hovdyr muttered. “It seems I must leave you here, gentleman,” he said to Geralt and Jaskier. “It's not wise to keep the wife waiting. Rory, show them to the stables, and tell Hadrin I'll be by later for a pint.”_ _ _ _

____“If she doesn't crown you with a pan again,” the boy snickered._ _ _ _

____“Be off with you, lad,” Hovdyr giving the boy a mock menacing glare. He shook his fist in a gesture that was more endearing than threatening before turning back to Jaskier and Geralt. “Innkeeper's name is Hadrin, he's my brother in law. Tell him Hovdyr sent you,” he said before waving and heading farther into the village, presumably towards home._ _ _ _

____Rory led them around the back of the building while he kept peeking back over his shoulder to sneak peeks at Geralt. The Witcher ignored him and led Roach inside to a pleasantly clean stall in the stable. There were two other horses that took no notice of them. Geralt passed a couple coins to the boy, requesting oats and fresh water. Then he started removing Roach's wet tack, only pausing when Jaskier reached to take the wet leather of the bridle from him._ _ _ _

____“What? I'm helping.”_ _ _ _

____Geralt sighed and let him take it, watching carefully for a moment as he started to clean it before setting it out to dry. Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't going to screw it up, he pulled their gear down before removing the saddle and cleaning it. Jaskier started brushing Roach down, crooning at her when she stretched her neck and curled her lip in pleasure. He left Geralt to examine her hooves and to check her over after he was done. When she was happily munching on oats, they carried their wet gear into the inn._ _ _ _

____“Greetings, sirs. I'm Hadrin,” a large man said from behind the bar. “We've hot food and dry beds for weary travelers.”_ _ _ _

____“We'll take the food and a room for the night,” Geralt told him._ _ _ _

____“And a hot bath, if that's an option,” Jaskier added._ _ _ _

____“Of course. There's hot water available if you're ready.” When Jaskier nodded eagerly before Geralt could refuse, the man called over to a young man that was adding logs to the fire. “Shamus. Bring the tub up to room two.” The teenager looked like an older version of Rory. He headed behind the bar into what must have been the kitchen. Hadrin handed Geralt a key and accepted the money Jaskier passed him. “There's a roast on the fire with potatoes and carrots when you're ready to eat.”_ _ _ _

____“You are most kind,” Jaskier said before being steered upstairs by Geralt's hand on his shoulder._ _ _ _

____In the room, Jaskier looked around to see a single bed, a chair, a table with a pitcher and basin set beneath a small mirror, and a brick hearth. He set his pack aside and pulled off his cloak, hanging it near the hearth to dry before taking stock of the fireplace. It was stacked with logs waiting for flames, but before Jaskier could move to light them, Geralt flicked his fingers, setting them ablaze with a prickly wash of magic that burned over his skin. Jaskier shivered._ _ _ _

____“Another Witcher's sign?” he asked._ _ _ _

____“Hmm.”_ _ _ _

____“Listen,” Jaskier said turning to his decidedly taciturn companion. “If we're going to travel together, you're going to need to do more than grunt.”_ _ _ _

____“I speak when I have something to say.” Geralt returned his irritated look calmly. “Usually it's not worth my time. Besides, you already knew the answer to your question when you asked.”_ _ _ _

____They were interrupted by a knock on the door and the bath was brought in and filled with steaming water. A stack of clean towels and a washcloth was provided which was worth the money on its own. Jaskier dug around in his pack for a bar of soap. He stood there holding it in his hand for a moment watching Geralt who wasn't looking at him. The other man was pulling off his armor, one piece at a time, and setting it aside to be inspected and cleaned. Jaskier wasn't shy per say, but he suddenly felt a weird sense of nervousness about stripping out of his clothes._ _ _ _

____“If you let the water get cold and then complain about it, I'll make you sleep in the stable,” Geralt growled, still not looking at him._ _ _ _

____Shaking himself, Jaskier started getting undressed, setting his clothes aside and stepping into the hot water. He sighed and settled in the tub, sitting still for a moment to let the heat soak into him after being cold and wet for most of the day. He scrubbed every inch of himself and washed his hair, feeling cleaner than he had in a while. After rinsing his hair one last time, he stood and dried himself off. He looked over to see that Geralt was now stripped to the waist, his shirt tossed over the back of the chair. Jaskier paused despite himself, entranced by the scars that littered the other man's torso. Claw marks, stab wounds, and viscous tears in his skin had all healed uneven and lumpy, leaving him a patchwork of past battles. Right now, he was examining three fresh parallel cuts along his ribs._ _ _ _

____“When did that happen?” Jaskier asked, dropping the towel and moving over to his side, his hands hovering but not touching. “Did the Werecat do that? Why didn't you say anything? It could have gotten infected.”_ _ _ _

____Geralt glared up at him. “It doesn't concern you.”_ _ _ _

____“It sure as hell does, especially if it happened when you were protecting me, you idiot.” Jaskier went over to Geralt's pack and started digging around, making the the other man growl low under his breath. “Oh, shut up,” Jaskier snarled. “You've got salve in here, I know you do.”_ _ _ _

____When he found the jar that smelled like the dressings that had been applied to his ankle, he grabbed one of the remaining towels and the clean bucket of water that sat by the hearth. He knelt down next to the Witcher and started cleaning the wound before applying the salve to it. Jaskier fumed in silence, seeing that the wounds had been kept clean but not properly tended._ _ _ _

____“They're just scratches,” Geralt said, his tone puzzled. “They'll heal on their own.”_ _ _ _

____“Just humor me, oh fearless Witcher,” Jaskier said, feeling better once he'd finished._ _ _ _

____The cuts weren't deep enough to need stitches and bandages would just be a waste of fabric, so he left them as they were and put the salve away. Only then did he realize he was still naked. Refusing to let it bother him, Jaskier stalked over to his bag and pulled out his last clean shirt. He debated putting on the silver outfit, but didn't want to risk it just yet. He'd have to have the blue one repaired and laundered in Yspaden, but it would have to do for now. He turned to Geralt when he was dressed again._ _ _ _

____“Do you care so little for yourself?” he asked._ _ _ _

____Geralt blinked at him like he didn't understand the question._ _ _ _

____“If you heal so easily, why do you look like you've been through a meat grinder?”_ _ _ _

____“It's difficult to tend wounds when you're unconscious,” Geralt said, his voice low and slightly menacing. “They heal as they are on the rare occasions when something is actually strong enough to injure me.”_ _ _ _

____“And nobody has ever helped you?”_ _ _ _

____“I don't need anyone,” the other man growled._ _ _ _

____“Right.” Jaskier wasn't sure why that bothered him so much. Pulling on his boots, he went downstairs to get something to eat, leaving the other man looking after him with an unreadable expression on his face._ _ _ _


	10. Pry You Apart

Downstairs in the tavern, Jaskier stabbed at the piece of roast meat on his plate as if it had insulted him. He'd left his lute upstairs, as he felt far too angry to consider singing tonight. Stupid Witcher. 

“Is anything amiss?” Shamus asked him as he brought him a mug of ale. 

“No, no. Not at all,” Jaskier told him easily, softening his expression. “Thanks for setting up the bath. I appreciate it.” 

The boy blinked at him. “Of course. Is uh. . .your friend coming down?”

“Probably.” Jaskier was honestly surprised that he hadn't come down already.

“Is he really a Witcher?!” Rory peaked out from behind his brother, his expression eager and bright.

“Leave off, Rory,” Shamus told him, cuffing his ear lightly. “You're supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“But it's so boring in there!” the younger boy whined. “Who the fuck wants to wash dishes when there's a real, live Witcher upstairs.” 

“Language!” Three people at different tables across the tavern spoke in unison with Shamus, all of them frowning at the boy. 

Rory stuck his tongue out at the patrons. “Where do you think I learned it from, you old sods?” 

Shamus rolled his eyes and nodded an apology to Jaskier. “Forgive my little brother, for he knows not when to shut up.”

Jaskier smiled and felt his horrible mood lightening considerably. “It's alright, he can keep me company, if that's okay.” 

He patted the bench next him and Rory jumped at the invitation, plopping himself down with the gangling grace of growing youth. Shamus shrugged and went back to the bar, picking up empty mugs to refill on his way. Rory grinned in victory as he looked eagerly at Jaskier. His hair was mussed and the smattering of freckles across his nose made him appear a little younger than he probably was. 

Jaskier leaned in like he was telling him a secret. “Have you ever seen a Witcher in action before?” 

“No,” Rory breathed, his eyes wide in anticipation. “Does he drink blood? Does he turn into a bat during the full moon or speak the tongues of monsters before he slays them? Does he eat babies?!” His voice had risen nearly to a shout by the time he was done and Jaskier was laughing. 

“No, he doesn't,” he said with a smile. “He's pretty normal actually. A little quiet perhaps.”

“Well that's boring,” Rory muttered, clearly disappointed. 

“But he does slay monsters.”

“Well of course he does. That's his job.” Rory looked at him like he was a moron. 

“I once saw him leap from a tree twenty feet in the air to slice a Werewolf in half and then land light as a feather on the ground without a scratch on him.” 

“Wow.” That certainly got the boy's attention. “What did you do?” 

“I watched with baited breath so I could commit every detail to memory. I've been traveling with him to chronicle his deeds so the whole world knows how great he is.”

“Now that's a job,” Rory said with envy. “But I'd much rather slay the beasts myself. I want to be a Witcher when I grow up!”

“No. You don't.”

They both jumped when they heard Geralt growl behind Rory, but the boy looked up at him in awe, instead of fear. 

“What could be better than saving the world from monsters?”

“Dying peacefully of old age instead of being torn apart on an unlucky day.”

“That's boring.” Rory huffed and turned back to Jaskier. “You're a way better storyteller than he is.” Shaking his head, he headed back to the kitchen.

“I think he means you're a much better liar,” Geralt said to Jaskier as he sat in the vacated seat and eyed him balefully. “None of that was true.”

“Storytelling is either bending the truth or making something up. Trust me, it's much better than reality.”

Geralt grunted and accepted the plate that Shamus brought him, eating automatically without making conversation, which was hardly surprising. Jaskier finished his meal before sitting back with his mug of ale and watched him. 

“I meant what I said about changing your image,” Jaskier said after a while of sitting in silence.

“It's a waste your time. I don't. . .”

“Yes, yes.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “You don't need anyone or anything, apparently.” He took a long sip of ale to try and swallow the anger that tried to rise in this throat again. “I think you're wrong, but you go ahead and keep brooding by yourself. You're really good at it.” 

Geralt turned a glare on him that was becoming less effective every time he used it. “I'm starting to wonder if I should just cut my losses and move on without you.”

“I'm pretty sure you would have already done that if it had honestly crossed your mind.” Jaskier hated the thought of him leaving. It was already bad enough that they'd be parting ways in Gelibol, but he didn't want to cut their companionship short. Jaskier sighed heavily. “I just think you deserve better.”

“Better than guarding your idiot ass, certainly.” Geralt turned back to his plate, finishing off what was left there.

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” Jaskier said quietly as he started into the flames of the large main hearth. 

After emptying his mug, he left the table and went back upstairs. The tub was now gone and the embers in the hearth had been banked for the night. Jaskier lit a candle and undressed before climbing into bed. He lay awake for a while and heard Geralt come in after him before he settled on his knees by the fire. Jaskier could hear the Witcher's steady breaths in the silence of the room and fell asleep thinking about what he was going to do when he was alone again.

*******

The next day brought an end to the rain even though pale clouds still obscured the sun. Everything was wet and fresh from the previous day's downpour, but the damp had soaked into everything as they set out after breakfast. Jaskier had his lute out and he played as he walked. He didn't like silence. He'd been forced to be quiet most of his life. He was shushed when he tried to ask what happened to his mother, hushed when he cried because she was gone, and then told to shut up when he tried to speak his mind and live his life for himself afterward. 

The music became maudlin and sad, and he sniffed suddenly, pausing in the road as his fingers stilled on the strings. His lips quivered and he pressed his mouth into a thin line to still it. He wasn't quite sure why the memories were swamping him so suddenly. Geralt halted a few yards ahead of him when he realized Jaskier had fallen behind.

“What is it?” the Witcher asked. His face was impassive.

Jaskier sniffed again. “Nothing.” He stowed the lute away slung it on his back, suddenly not interested in playing anymore. 

Geralt huffed and kept riding, assuming that Jaskier would follow. After a few more minutes of silence while they walked, he sighed. “I didn't. . .upset you, did I?” The words were ground out haltingly, like he was struggling to figure out what to say.

“You wouldn't care if you did,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt grunted, but it wasn't as dismissive as usual. “There's a reason I don't do bodyguard work.”

“You could have said no. I certainly never asked you drag me around and hover over my shoulder every fucking second.” Jaskier was angry again but not necessarily at Geralt directly. Despite the occasional rough handling, he enjoyed the other man's attention. Something made him want to pry apart the shell that Geralt was shielding himself with, like it was some sort of puzzle that once solved, would allow him to actually find the man underneath. Jaskier knew there was more to him than the stories. As much as he embellished his own tales, he was far more interested in the reality of him than the legend.

Jaskier waited for him to comment but Geralt didn't say anything further. Walking along on in the oppressive silence, Jaskier didn't say anything either. He actually started to wish for another monster to appear so they'd have some sort of distraction. Being alone with his own thoughts was never a good feeling. So he looked ahead and took in the sight of the trees around him. Jaskier imagined where the road might lead him, composing lyrics about anticipation and adventure on the road. He tried to lose himself in the the music that always floated in the back of his head.

The next couple of days passed relatively quickly, despite the fact that they didn't speak much. After the silence finally became too much, Jaskier started chattering to himself, relieved that the Witcher seemingly chose to ignore him rather than shush him. He commented on their surroundings and posed questions about what used to be here before the Wood even though he didn't expect answers. Occasionally he sang some experimental lyrics about the past and the potential future. It helped pass the time, but Jaskier was relieved when he saw signs of habitation signaling the outskirts of Yspaden at the end of the second day. He really felt the need to be around other people right now, but Geralt pulled off the road before they reached the town.

“We'll camp out here and wait for the others.”

“Oh no. I'm not staying out here when there is probably a perfectly good inn not twenty minutes away from where we stand.” Jaskier kept walking, refusing to follow the other man into the bushes. “I like camping and sleeping under the stars, but I'm laying my head down on an actual pillow tonight.”

“It wasn't a suggestion.”

Jaskier stopped and looked back at the Witcher where he was trying to look intimidating from where he sat on his mount. Jaskier gave Geralt his best bored stare and refused to let himself be intimidated. “You'll have to tie me to a tree to get me to stay outside tonight. Is it really worth the effort?”

Geralt didn't say anything as he got down from the horse and stalked over. Jaskier held his ground, feeling the quiver of nerves in his belly while trying not to show it even when strong fingers curled into the front of his doublet and jerked him up on his toes. Golden eyes bored into him from mere inches away. Jaskier reached out and touched the tip of Geralt's nose.

“Boop.”

There was a flare of something in Geralt's eyes, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. They stared at each other until Roach came over and butted her head against the Witcher's shoulder. His fingers finally released Jaskier's clothes and he grabbed the reigns before moving back onto the road, leading his mount this time instead of riding. Jaskier fought to hold in the nervous giggle that was threatening to bubble up in his throat. He let it out in a quiet sigh instead before following him.

It was nice to actually be able to see where he was going while walking into town instead of being slung over Geralt's shoulder like he had been in Barefield. The buildings appeared newer here and their plaster looked crisp and clean, a stark contrast to the dark beams along the framework. The people on the street didn't pay them much mind as they headed to the inn to rent a room. The foot traffic and occasional mounted person on the street moved smoothly as everyone went about their day. They stopped at the stables near the gate to secure lodging for Roach before heading to the inn. Some of the people on the street headed into the tavern ahead of them as they got to the door. It was already bustling with people, the atmosphere lively, and Jaskier perked up immediately.

“Good evening, my good man,” Jaskier said to the innkeeper as he sidled up to the bar. “I'd like to rent a room. I'd be happy to perform if it would make the bill weigh just a little bit less.”

The man's eyes skimmed over Jaskier's clothes. “If you can make yourself a bit more presentable, I might consider it.” Looking evenly at Geralt, he spoke casually. “It will cost extra for the mutant.” There was no real heat or disdain in the words. It was more like a statement of fact. A few of the patrons in the near vicinity had stopped their conversations to see what would happen. But Geralt didn't react at all and he appeared docile. Jaskier had been traveling with him long enough to see the barely perceptible coil of muscles in his frame. This must have been why he hadn't wanted to come into town, but Jaskier refused to be intimidated. Improving the Witcher's reputation was what he'd intended to do all along and there was no time like the present. He gave the innkeeper a bright smile and tossed a pouch onto the counter.

“Of course. I'd like a room for the week. That should be enough to cover it and I keep what I earn otherwise.”

The innkeeper counted the coins briefly before agreeing. “Done.” The pouch disappeared into the man's apron and he handed Jaskier a key. “Washroom is around back. If your appearance doesn't meet my satisfaction, you'll keep your cheeky mouth shut,” he said cheerfully. “Clear?”

“Crystal.” Jaskier smirked and twirled the key in his fingers before heading towards the back door. Sensing that a fight wasn't about to break out, the patrons turned back to their drinks, the din of voices rising again. Out back, there was a small, enclosed courtyard with an herb garden next to a storage shed. The washroom was modest but well kept and clean with a full boiler and soft towels. Jaskier set about to clean up and change while he still had the nerve to play. This place was much larger than any tavern he'd been to in the Wood. 

“You sure about this?” Geralt asked him as he settled on a bench and crossed his arms. “This won't be like serenading a small town that hasn't had anything to do except farm crops and tend animals for months. Don't expect the same kind of reception here.”

“It will be fine.” Jaskier filled the tub and undressed, packing his blue clothing away. His first stop tomorrow morning would have to be a tailor if they had one. He cleaned off his boots as best he could and then slipped into the water so he could scrub himself quickly, washing his hair before getting out and draining the tub so he could refill it. Geralt raised a brow but didn't say anything as Jaskier dried himself off. Jaskier pursed his lips. “Don't give me that look. If you insist on being my escort, you'll at least have to freshen up yourself. I can smell Roach from here.” Jaskier ignored Geralt's glare and dressed in the silvery embroidered doublet and matching trousers before tugging on his boots. He smiled at the other man as he combed his hair. “Would you like me to wash your back?”

Geralt held his eyes as he pulled off his armor, and dumped it in a heap. When he was fully naked, Jaskier fought not to let his thoughts show on his face and merely watched him step into the clean water and wash himself efficiently. It seemed he wasn't taking Jaskier's offer at face value which was probably for the best. The scars continued on down his hips and legs. It seemed that every inch of him was marked by battle. How long had he been fighting? Jaskier combed his hair and looked away, suddenly feeling like he was intruding even though he'd been prodding the man a moment ago. By the time he was done, Geralt had drained the tub and dressed in his spare clothes. That would have to be good enough. They went back inside and up the back stairs to stow their belongings in the room before going back down to the tavern.

Jaskier did a little twirl at the end of the bar while holding his arms wide with his lute in one hand and waited for the innkeeper's appraisal. The man just rolled his eyes and nodded at the far corner of the room where there was a stool by the hearth. The tavern was clean and the smells of food, spirits, and wood smoke mingled with the press of humanity in an enclosed space. But it wasn't an unpleasant scent. Jaskier felt more at ease now than he had in a while as he settled on the stool. He felt the room's attention focus on him as he strummed his lute, turning a couple pegs to tune it briefly before playing a lyrical thread of notes. He could feel Geralt's eyes on him from where he'd settled into a shadowed corner across the room.

Jaskier tested the waters briefly by starting out with a couple of the local songs he'd learned recently to the general appreciation of the people listening. The tone of the crowd turned cheerful as ale flowed and conversation settled comfortably over the sound of the music. Yes, this is what he had always wanted. It felt good to seamlessly weave a story through the crowd, playing the lute with his fingers dancing over the strings. He sang of the forest and the shadows beneath the branches, the unknown dangers and a journey far from home. And then he sang of comfort, of warm fires and a candle lit to light the way back. The crowd seemed to let out a satisfied sigh as people ate and drank and sank into the comforts the tavern had to offer. 

The tinkle of coins at his feet as the last note faded was quite probably the most satisfying thing Jaskier had ever heard. He gave the crowd a small bow before setting the lute in its case and collecting his earnings. There was a small murmur of disappointed voices, which he was quick to banish, as he felt a small flush of pride. 

“Fear not gentle people, for I shall return after a quick break to wet my throat.” Jaskier headed over to a table where an Elven man accepted two mugs from a server and held one of them up in invitation. He'd caught Jaskier's eye earlier and he was keen to strike up a conversation, but wasn't quite sure how to approach him. He was delighted that he was being the given opportunity without even trying. Offering a small nod of thanks, he accepted the mug. “Jaskier the Bard, at your service.”

The Elf chuckled and raised his mug to toast him and gestured for him to sit. “Elihal the Tailor. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine really,” Jaskier said as he took a sip from the mug, pleased by the fruity notes of the brew. “I'm actually in the market for tailor and it seems fate has drawn me here to you. Do you have a shop in town? I have some things that require mending.”

“As a matter of fact I do.” Elihal's gaze took in his clothes with an appraising eye. “Though given what you're wearing, I'm not sure my meager skills would be up to par.”

Jaskier looked down at the finely stitched doublet and shrugged. “My tastes are varied and much more humble than my appearance would suggest. This was a gift from a friend.” 

“A friend who has impeccable taste.” Delicate fingers traced the embroidery at Jaskier's wrist before retreating. Elihal gave him a shy look. “Forgive me for being forward. Occupational curiosity.”

“It's alright.” Jaskier's gaze warmed, though he wasn't quite sure how to proceed with his dark little Witcher rain cloud glowering at him from the other corner of the room. 

“Oh.” A pink flush traveled along the delicate tips of Elihal's ears. “I'm not interested in men, but I'm flattered just the same.”

“Oh!. I'm so sorry. I. . .um.” Jaskier floundered a bit, suddenly nervous and incredibly embarrassed. “Ooh. I'm awkward.” He shook his head. “I mean, it's awkward. Sorry.”

Elihal chuckled, a light tinkling sound. “It's alright.”

Jaskier hid behind his mug for a moment and took another sip. “Did I mention I'm awkward?” he asked after a moment when the heat on his face cooled a bit.

“I believe you did. But don't worry, you're secret is safe with me.” Elihal's expression held lighthearted mirth, but no condescension.

“I'm usually better at reading body language. I should have researched more about Elves.”

Elihal's expression faltered a bit before he recovered and fingered a golden bracelet on his wrist. “Their customs can be different, but they're not so different from men as some pretend.” He sounded wary and Jaskier worried that he'd upset him somehow.

“Forgive me. I didn't intend any offense.”

“None taken,” Elihal said evenly as he looked around the room cautiously. He nodded at a man at the door who had waved to him when he came in and seemed to relax. “Well. I should be going.”

“Goodnight. I wish we could have spoken more.” Jaskier smiled with bittersweet regret simmering beneath as he felt the cool dismissal in the Elf's words. 

“Come to my shop tomorrow and we can continue our conversation. It's at the end of River Way overlooking the banks of the Buina.”

“Oh. Thank you. I'll be there. Do you know where I can have my things laundered? I've been traveling for a while.” 

“Bring them to me as they are and I'll refresh them for you. If your other things are as fine as what you're wearing, they'll require a more delicate touch than being bashed against a rock in the river.”

Jaskier brightened and stood to shake his hand again. “It truly was a pleasure to meet you.” After watching him go, he went back over to his lute and played the rest of the night.


	11. Mutual Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I'm posting earlier in the day because I'm on vacation today. Happy Birthday to me!
> 
> Thank you so much for the lovely comments. They make my day.

The next morning, Jaskier gathered his things to take to Elihal before heading downstairs to see if there was anything for breakfast. Geralt followed wordlessly at his heels. At the foot of the stairs, Jaskier turned around to look up at him where he stood a couple steps higher. 

“Are you really going to follow me everywhere around town while we're here?”

Geralt just looked at him.

“There are guards in town. Nobody was threatening us last night.” Jaskier made no mention of the innkeeper's words, but there hadn't been the heat of active hatred in his voice. It was more like a casual bigotry that was ingrained. It was no less infuriating, but it felt less dangerous. “It should be safe enough. I'm just going to see the tailor I met last night. Honest.”

Still Geralt said nothing.

“You were bitching about not being paid to follow me around while I went shopping.”

Silence.

“You know what, this is fine. You're cute when you're all silent and broody.”

Finally Geralt growled at him which made him smile. Jaskier went out into the main room to see the innkeeper and ordered bowls of porridge made with dried fruit that had plumped while it simmered on the stove. They ate quickly and went down towards the river. Ships were already docking and there was a lot of activity along the riverfront as goods moved through. The day was just starting for everyone else and people were starting to emerge from their homes to get on with their day. They passed a blacksmith on the way and the ringing clang of a hammer on an anvil echoed out into the street. Jaskier saw Geralt give it an appraising look as they went by. 

Elihal's shop was at the end of the lane. A sign hung above the door in the shape of a spool and needle proclaiming the shop's services and the ringing of a soft bell sounded when Jaskier opened the door. Inside, the ceiling went all the way to the roof with the wide beams exposed and long swaths of colorful fabrics hung from above, giving the place an airy, colorful atmosphere. Several mannequins stood along one wall, each of them displaying elegant doublets and dresses. More sedate workman's clothing hung on a rack along another wall. Elihal emerged from a door on the far side of the room with a smile on his face.

“Good morning, Jaskier.” The Elf's eyes took in Geralt and widened a little. “You really did arrive together then. Everyone around town has been talking, but I wasn't sure I believed it.”

Jaskier glanced back at Geralt and then turned back to Elihal. “We're kind of a package deal at the moment. I hope that's not a problem. This is Geralt.” 

“Not at all. I'm not one to judge. It's a pleasure to meet you, Geralt. I'm Elihal.” He held out his hand and Geralt shook it easily. Turning back to Jaskier, Elihal reached out and wiggled his fingers. “Now. What have you brought me?”

Jaskier handed him his blue outfit and torn shirt. He grinned sheepishly as the the Elf unfurled the fabric and examined the claw marks with raised brows. “Traveling with a Witcher is tough on the wardrobe.”

“I imagine so,” Elihal said as he fingered the cloth with care. “I don't believe I've ever repaired anything damaged by claws before. But this should be easy enough to address. The damage isn't severe even if it is. . .odd. ”

“I'm hoping it's the last time,” Jaskier said.

“It probably won't be,” Geralt muttered.

“Geralt, if you're just going to be an asshole, go away. I doubt any monsters are going to jump out of Elihal's sewing kit.” He usually enjoyed the man's grumpiness, but the overbearing chaperon act was wearing a bit thin this morning for some reason. Even though Elihal wasn't romantically inclined, Jaskier still wanted to spend some more time with him. He suddenly yearned to have a conversation that included more than just grunts and dry commentary. 

“I'll be at the blacksmith. Come get me when you're done here or go straight back to the inn.”

“Yes, Sir!” Jaskier saluted him which made Geralt's expression darken as he grumped his way out of the shop and into the street.

“Oh, he's certainly charming,” Elihal said with a smile when the door was closed.

“And I'm not quite convinced it's because he's a Witcher,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “I'm pretty sure that's just a Geralt thing.”

“I've never heard of a Witcher traveling with a companion before,” Elihal said as he measured Jaskier's clothes and made some notes in a small book. “I'm told they're solitary creatures.”

“Yeah, well. He's kind of my bodyguard at the moment, I guess. It's a long story.”

“One which I'd love to hear if you're inclined.” Elihal gestured to a stool next to the table.

“You don't mind? I don't want to get in your way,” Jaskier said as he settled on the cushioned seat.

“Of course not. I had hoped you had some time on your hands.”

“I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to come on quite so strong.”

“Oh, you didn't,” Elihal said with a wave of his hand. “I should apologize for leading you on, I suppose. It wasn't a completely unfounded expectation given that I reached out first. And I'd had my eye on you from the moment you came down into the tavern last night. That was quite the saucy turn you gave Saul at the bar. I don't think he knew quite what to make of you.”

Jaskier grinned and turned back and forth on the rotating seat of the stool. “He was kind of and ass which tends to make me want to sass back.” 

“A delightful, if dangerous, personality quirk. But I suppose it's less so, given the company you keep.”

“I tend to give Geralt a fair bit of sass as well.”

“And how does that typically go? Few would dare to speak to a Witcher the way you did just now.” 

Jaskier shrugged. “He's just a person. I mean, he's got some really specific skills. But I don't treat him much differently than I do anyone else.” Jaskier wondered if that's why the other man had put up with him so far. Elihal was watching him with an odd expression on his face. 

“You are curious,” he said thoughtfully. “Sadly, most aren't as accepting as you.” 

“Is that why you got nervous when I mentioned Elves last night?”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” Elihal said offhandedly. But his shoulders were becoming tense as he moved toward the door. 

“Well. You're the only Elf I've seen in town,” Jaskier said. “I've seen some racist assholes along the road, so I know how bad it can be. But you seem to be doing okay.” He stilled on the stool when Elihal locked the door and pulled the curtains closed. “Um. Are you closing early?”

“How did you know?” Elihal asked quietly without turning around. It was hard to tell what he was thinking when he wasn't showing his face.

“Know what?” Jaskier asked, trying to keep his voice even. “You're making me a bit nervous. Do I need to call my Witcher over here?” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but he wondered if he'd really need to yell for Geralt's help.

“How do you know I'm en Elf?” Elihal turned and held up his wrist where the golden bracelet gleamed where it peeked out from under the cuff of his shirt. He didn't appear to be angry. If anything, he looked scared. “This is a first rate enchantment that was laid nearly forty years ago. It's never failed before, even against sorcerers.”

“I really don't know what you mean. You have pointed ears and your features aren't quite human. I've never met an Elf before, but I know what they're supposed to look like.”

“But I'm supposed to look human!” Elihal hissed in a tense whisper as he shook his wrist at him. “I've lived in this town for more than a decade. I shouldn't have had to move on for another five years at least. But if it's not working anymore, I can't stay.” He went over to the full length mirror that hung by the door to stare at himself. Out of the corner of Jaskier's eye, he thought he saw a shimmer in the glass. Turning his head slightly, he saw Elihal's features shift and soften in the mirror. His ears rounded and his chin looked less pointed while the color of his eyes dulled from their crystalline green to a soft hazel. 

“Oh. I see it in the mirror, I think. If I look at it the right way.”

Elihal turned to look at him, his face full of anguish. It was a horrible expression and Jaskier was sad that he was the one to put it there. In person, Elihal's Elven features were clear and there was no distortion. 

“I'm sorry. Do you not want to be an Elf?”

Elihal slumped into the visitor chair that sat by the door. “That's a complicated question that has an equally complicated answer.” 

Jaskier stilled himself on the stool and softened his expression. “I don't have anywhere to be right now. And I know what it's like to want to be something other than you are.” His voice was quiet and Elihal's eyes met his solemnly. 

“Yes, I suppose you do. I thought I'd imagined it last night while listening to you sing, but it appears that there is something more to you than meets the eye.”

“That's what the Werecat said,” Jaskier muttered.

Elihal's delicate brows rose as his maudlin expression was quickly eclipsed by curiosity. “Werecat? Oh, do tell.”

“You wouldn't happen to have any coffee, would you?” Jaskier asked. 

“Oh, I have something far better that.”

*******

Three hours later, Jaskier was slightly drunk on Everluce, which turned out to be the most fantastic wine he'd ever tasted. Toussaint had just been added to his growing list of must-visit places in the Wood. They'd moved from the shop into Elihal's parlor in the back where they sat together on a plush divan. Jaskier was slumped in his seat with his head resting on the back cushion and the Elf's legs were settled comfortably in his lap. The connection they'd made initially the night before had shifted into something palpable and comforting as they drank together and shared stories.

Elihal had survived something call The Great Cleansing and he had retreated from Elven society altogether, hiding behind the enchantment to appear human so he could blend in. Jaskier couldn't believe something so important had been left out of his history lessons. He was sad for the lives that had been lost and when he'd wept for the fallen Elves, Elihal had wrapped his arms around him and they sat together quietly until he'd calmed again. Jaskier wasn't sure why it had hit him so hard and he was grateful for the Elf's quiet comfort. Elihal had asked Jaskier to keep his secret to which he'd readily agreed. He had no interest in making his life more difficult. They'd since moved on to happier subjects as Jaskier described the Modern world and the technology that still thrived there. 

“I went to Ard Carraigh once,” Elihal said, his speech still clear even though he'd finished half the bottle himself. “It was such an odd feeling. Like a prickling over my skin that settled into a dull itch the entire time I was there. While I was entranced by the stories on the television in my hotel room, I don't think I would be able to live there. It's just so. . .sterile.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement. One of the things he hated was the disinfected cleanliness of the Modern Cities. Growing up, there had been an entire room in his house that he hadn't been allowed to enter as a child because it was supposed to remain spotless. Seven year old Jaskier hadn't been trusted not to get it dirty. After getting scolded harshly on one occasion for daring to step inside to get a closer look at the portrait of his mother, he'd gone out and rolled in the mud before coming back in and tracking footprints across the pristine carpet and leaving hand prints on almost every surface he could reach. He'd been soundly beaten and confined to his rooms for three days with no outside contact except the nanny. But it had been totally worth it.

“Yeah, it felt so strange the first time I crossed over into the the Wood. Even more so the second time for this trip. But I like it much better here.” He patted the Elf's knee. “Making connections with people is so much easier and it feels more worthwhile.” 

Elihal smiled at him. “I'm glad you decided to come here.”

“What did you mean earlier, when you said you thought you imagined something about my singing last night?” Jaskier turned his head lazily on the cushion to look at him.

Elihal took a breath and let it out slowly as he considered what to say. “There is something to your music, but I'm not quite sure what it is. It's not just ordinary sound. I've not heard anything like it in decades.”

“I'm told it's probably magic. But I'm not sure I really believe it. The weirdest thing to happen was when I started speaking Elder Speech after sleeping with the Rusalka in the river.” Jaskier looked up as the Elf tensed beneath his hands. 

“You speak Elder Speech and yet you've never heard of the Great Cleansing before?” Elihal's voice had taken on a strange inflection. He seemed to have missed the fact that Jaskier had just told him he'd boinked a deadly monster underwater and survived. Elves were weird.

“Apparently. It sounds like normal Common to me. I didn't even know I was doing it.”

Elihal blinked at him. “You're sure you don't know how to speak it?” he asked with that same inflection.

“Geralt asked me the same thing. I took a class at the University in Lettenhove, but the only thing I remember is how to ask where the bathroom is.”

Elihal laughed brightly and trailed off in a sigh, his eyes twinkling as he watched Jaskier's confused expression. “Remarkable.” 

“What?”

They both looked up when there was a loud knock on the shop door in the other room.

“Wow, even his knock is cranky,” Jaskier muttered. “Sorry. The Warrior Nanny calls.”

“I heard that,” Geralt's gruff voice called from outside.

Elihal laughed again and swung his legs down to stand up. “Well, it is moving on towards midday. I should take care of your poor, abused clothing.” He led the way out to the shop where he opened the curtains and unlocked the door. Geralt came in and glowered at him. 

“You know, if you keep frowning like that, your face might stick that way,” Jaskier said as Elihal came over to put his hands on Jaskier's shoulders and steady him before raising his arms. He threaded a measuring tape through his fingers as he quickly took Jaskier's measurements. Jaskier let out a small 'eep' as the Elf knelt and his fingers slid up his inseam to his crotch. Elihal grinned at him cheekily and quickly coiled up the tape and jotted numbers down in his book. 

“Come back tomorrow and your things will be repaired. How long will you be staying in Yspaden?”

Jaskier turned to Geralt who was watching the Elf carefully. He snapped his fingers in front of the Witcher's face to get his attention. “Hellooo. How long do you think it will take Stellan and the rest to show up?”

“Three, maybe four days. You done here?” Geralt asked, his voice more growly than usual.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Elihal. And thanks.”

“My pleasure.” The Elf inclined his head.

Geralt guided Jaskier towards the door and kept a hand at the base of his neck as he stumbled a bit on the front stairs. “It's a little early to be drunk isn't it?” he asked when they were out on the street.

“I believe I may take up day drinking if it allows me to keep such lovely company,” Jaskier declared, throwing his arms out wide in a grand gesture. Then he slumped against Geralt's side and wrapped an arm around his waist without thinking about it. “But don't be jealous. He's not interested in sleeping with me and I missed your grumpy face.” The Witcher sighed heavily but surprisingly, he didn't push him away. He just took him back to the inn where brought him up to the room and deposited him on the bed. Cupping Jaskier's chin, Geralt looked him in the eye.

“What did you drink?”

“Everluce. Marvelous stuff. Only had it once before, but it must have been a bad year. Or Ferrant got ripped off, which would be hilarious.” Jaskier giggled. He trailed off and frowned. “I think I'm a cheap drunk,” he said, like he was just figuring it out for the first time. Maybe he'd had more than he thought. Looking at the Witcher who was now crouched in front of him where he sat on the bed, Jaskier reached out and put his hands on the other man's shoulders before leaning in to rest their foreheads together. “And what did you do this morning?”

“Replaced the dagger you foolishly left when you went to take a piss the other night,” Geralt said, his voice low and gruff. 

“That's so sweet.” Jaskier gave him a peck on the cheek. “Don't let anybody treat you like crap. You're better than they say you are.” With that, he kicked off his boots and rolled back onto the bed, wrapping the blanket messily around himself.

If Jaskier had been more aware and hadn't fallen asleep immediately, he would have noticed the stunned expression on the Witcher's face and saw that he remained crouched next to the bed far longer than was necessary. And that when he settled in the chair next to the bed, he sat watching him sleep with a troubled expression on his face.


	12. Into the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the lovely comments.

Jaskier opened his eyes and groaned before shutting them again when light from the window sheared across his eyes. “Urgh.” A metallic shearing sound sliced across his hearing, making the pounding in his head throb. “Oh, gods,” he moaned. “Must you do that right now?” Jaskier asked piteously. Shielding his eyes, he glared at Geralt who was sitting in the chair sharpening a dagger. 

“Perhaps if you weren't such a lightweight, it wouldn't trouble you so much,” Geralt said as he scraped the knife across the stone in his other hand. 

Jaskier groaned again and flopped onto his back dramatically. “It was worth it,” he said after a moment. “What time is it?”

“Morning. You slept all afternoon and all night.” Geralt cleaned and sheathed the knife before setting it on the bedside table. “Try not to lose that one.”

Jaskier watched him leave the room before reaching out to pick up the knife. He pulled it from the sheath and held it up to the shaft of morning light, wincing as it flashed across his eyes. This was lighter than the blade he'd brought with him and the handle fit his hand more comfortably. Sheathing it again, he sat up and tied it at his side as Geralt had done for him before and grabbed his lute before heading downstairs. Geralt was nowhere to be seen which was odd, but maybe he'd finally realized that there was no danger here. Jaskier shrugged to himself and got something to eat.

When he got to Elihal's shop, he was feeling much better. And despite what he vaguely remembered saying the day before, he probably wasn't going to start drinking as early today as he did the day before. The Elf was at his worktable and he looked up with a smile as Jaskier came in. 

“Good morning,” he said brightly. “Your clothing is ready.” He indicated the Jaskier's folded doublet, trousers, and shirt. 

Jaskier set his lute down and picked up the doublet, fingering the delicate stitching used to repair the tears. It was obvious and could be clearly seen, but it looked more like embroidery than just plain old repairs. While the Werecat had only clawed him on the left side, the stitching was identical on both front panels of the doublet. The fabric was also crisp and fresh like new. 

“It looks like it was part of the original design,” he said. “And you're going to have to tell me how you got it so clean.”

“The fabric was torn too badly to hide the cuts. When you can't make a repair invisible, you have to get creative and and find a way to work it in so it belongs. I also took the liberty of sewing a couple of pockets into the lining on the inside. I thought they might come in handy.” 

“You can never have too many pockets,” Jaskier said with a grin. 

“As for the cleanliness, I must confess that I cheat a little with magic. It's a simple cantrip that saves a great deal of time and doesn't degrade the fibers.” 

“Handy.”

“If you'd like, you may use my washroom and I'll refresh your current outfit.” His lips curled in a knowing grin. “It looks a bit rumpled like you may have slept in it.”

Jaskier chuckled. “We'll, the Everluce was a bit stronger than I thought, and I wasn't quite thinking when I slept it off at the inn yesterday. How much do I owe you?” 

“Just my standard fee for the repairs. Consider the rest a gift for providing such interesting company.” 

It turned out to be a much more reasonable price than Jaskier felt he deserved, but he didn't haggle as he pulled out his coin pouch and handed over a few coins. He took the Elf up on his offer and brought the repaired clothing with him to the washroom. Jaskier felt refreshed and much more relaxed when he came out wearing the blue doublet and trousers.

“What are you working on now?” Jaskier asked as he set the silvery gold clothing on the stool and settled himself in the visitor chair, pulling the lute out of its case. Elihal eyed the instrument with a smile.

“I've no orders at the moment, so I'm keeping my hands busy with some material I had laying around.” He was arranging pieces of vibrant teal fabric so the edges lined up before tacking them together with small pins. But he set that aside for a moment before gathering Jaskier's clothes from the stool and laying them out on the table. He held his hands out over the fabric and spoke a few quiet words. Jaskier smelled a fresh burst of something in the air, almost like a soap bubble popping, that left a clean scent. Elihal folded the clothing and set it back on the stool again. 

“That's a handy trick.” Jaskier said as he strummed idly at the lute. He would love to be able to clean his clothing at will like that without having to wash his things in streams or pay to have them laundered. 

“Have you even consciously cast a spell before?”

“No. I'm still not convinced I'm doing anything magical, even with the music. Is it something I can learn?” 

Elihal listened to him play for a few moments before going back to pinning pieces of fabric together. “I would teach you, but I'm hardly qualified. And Elven magic isn't quite the same as spells that are used by humans.” 

“Oh well.” Jaskier went through a series of scales as a warm up before settling in to play in earnest.

“You're quite good.”

“Thanks. Few people in Lettenhove seemed to think so.” He suddenly missed Essie. As much as he'd joked about her love of indoor plumbing, she'd love it here. Somewhere along the road, he'd have to make a stop in a Modern City and call her.

“That's a look of remembrance if I ever saw one. It's a fond memory I hope.”

“My friend Essie. You'd like her. She's the one who helped me pick my wardrobe for this trip.”

“She has excellent taste,” Elihal said as he pulled out another stool and perched on it as he started to sew the pieces he'd pinned together.

“And talent. She recorded a record and published some poems.” Jaskier started playing 'Gentle Wanderer' and felt the music shift as he plucked out the notes on the lute and sang the familiar lyrics. It was written for guitar and the gentle staccato of the notes sounded different on his instrument. Elihal lowered his hands and closed his eyes as he listened. He let out a quiet sigh as the last notes faded.

“One of hers?”

“Yeah.”

“She loves you quite a bit.”

“Is it obvious that the song is about me?” Jaskier swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “I didn't know for certain until right before I left.”

“Piecing together what you've told me so far, I could make an educated guess.” Elihal, wet the end of a piece of thread in his mouth before threading a thin bone needle. “You seem a bit embarrassed.”

“She didn't want me to go into the Wood.”

“What changed her mind?”

Jaskier sighed. “My singing. After going in the first time, and coming back, she said something changed.” 

“It wasn't always like this?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Elihal turned back to his sewing and didn't say anything else so Jaskier started playing again, the melody calm and relaxing. They sat in quiet companionship while Elihal sewed and Jaskier played, both plying their respective trades in harmony. Unlike the silence of traveling with Geralt, this was something more comfortable and Jaskier felt no need to speak. It wasn't better or more enjoyable. Jaskier liked traveling with Geralt and filling the silence for both of them wasn't a hardship. It was merely a choice he was free to make. But it was different all the same. They spent the rest of the day like that until the sun started setting over the river. When Jaskier gathered up his things and headed to the tavern to perform that evening, the Elf followed him. 

Geralt was sitting in the corner and he made no move to get up as Jaskier went upstairs to stow his things before coming back down and settling on the stool by the hearth. Jaskier smirked as Elihal sat at the Witcher's side and struck up a conversation. It started out one sided, but Geralt made no move to get up and leave so it apparently wasn't a failure. And the Elf was persistent. Jaskier played for the lively crowd and kept an eye on his Witcher and his new friend as they spoke quietly and drank. Occasionally, one of them would look in his direction, making it fairly obvious that he was the topic of their conversation. Jaskier wondered what they were talking about, but he supposed he should just be glad they got along. Later into the evening, Elihal toasted Jaskier with his mug before draining it and heading home for the night.

When Jaskier took his own leave for the evening, he gathered up his earnings and tucked them away before putting his lute in the case. Geralt followed him upstairs to their room. 

“Where did you disappear to today?” Jaskier asked him as he set the lute aside and put away the silvery gold outfit and clean shirt. 

“Had a contract.”

“For?”

“A monster.”

“The pictures you paint with words are vivid and full of life.” Jaskier put a hand over his heart dramatically. “I don't know how I'll ever become a storyteller of your caliber.” He grinned when Geralt growled. “What kind of monster was it?” He held up a hand before the Witcher could snarl at him. “Consider it a lesson. The more I learn about potential dangers, the better I can avoid them and make your job easier.”

Geralt took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “A couple of Ghouls moved into the local cemetery. They're necrophages that eat corpses, but they'll attack humans and claw them to death. Then they let the bodies age and rot before eating them raw.”

“Charming.” Jaskier grimaced. 

“You asked.”

“I trust you were successful?”

“I took care of them before they could start nesting.” 

Jaskier undressed and set his clothes down on his pack. “So that's what you do? Go around looking for contacts and kill things for money?”

“In general, yes. I take other odd jobs as necessary, but hunting monsters is my trade.”

“Did you ever want to do anything else? Or did you always want to be a Witcher?”

“It wasn't a choice. If I ever wanted to be anything else, I don't remember.” Geralt's voice had become soft, his face solemn. And then he frowned and looked away. Settling on his knees by the hearth, he turned his back on Jaskier and slowed his breathing. Jaskier stared at his back for a little while before getting under the covers. He didn't know much about how Witchers were made, but from the way Geralt frowned and how he'd told Rory that he didn't want to become one, he assumed it wasn't pleasant. Well. If Jaskier had any say, he was going to make his life better moving forward. If Geralt let him. 

*******

He spent the next day the same as before by talking with Elihal while he worked, but a customer came in at midday, so Jaskier took his leave early. They planned to meet later at the tavern when he performed again. He wandered the town and went into the leather working shop. Jaskier purchased a few small, leather pouches that would come in handy for holding just about anything, as well as a larger pouch with inner pockets to hold toiletries. He needed to make a better kit for traveling and he was already tired of the plain soap he'd been using. The shop next door sold an array of perfumes, oils, and scented soaps, and he filled most of the slots in his new kit with several purchases. Even after missing out on a night of singing, his earnings were more than enough to cover the costs. All in all, things were going pretty well so far. Jaskier was almost sad that he planned to leave soon, and made a mental note to come back here in the future.

After heading back to the inn, he spent some time in their room making notes and working on some new songs that were in progress. Geralt appeared to be napping on the bed and didn't even twitch when Jaskier came in. But somehow he knew the the other man was awake. When evening fell, he went downstairs to eat and have a pint before settling at the hearth to sing again. Geralt stayed upstairs. Jaskier tried out a song that was a work in progress that was received well enough, but didn't get a huge response. The mood was a bit more tense for some reason, so Jaskier continued to play without lyrics after that. He wove wordless melodies in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere and tried not to feel disappointed that Elihal hadn't shown up. 

Maybe the customer was taking a bit more of his time than he thought. He'd wanted something custom, so there must have been measuring and designing involved. But the shop closed at sundown and there was no reason for him not to be here. Jaskier tried not to feel nervous. There was no reason to and it seemed safe here. Even Geralt had relaxed enough to let him wander around town on his own without supervision. But he couldn't quite quell the worry and he ended the night early, taking a meager amount of pay from the unimpressed audience. He pocketed the coins and packed up his lute before heading outside and across town. There were still a couple people out at night, but not as many in the day, and the streets were lit with lanterns. Jaskier's pulse picked up when he saw that the curtains at Elihal's shop were pulled tight. He could see a thin sliver of light where one of them hadn't been closed all the way. Stepping up to the door, he knocked.

“Elihal?” 

It was possible that he was just working late, but after several moments, there was no answer. If he was home, why wasn't he saying anything? When Jaskier turned the handle, it opened easily in his hand which should have worried him. Stepping through the doorway, the soft tinkling of the bell announced his arrival. He had a split second to register the Elf's terrified face where he was tied to a chair in the parlor before something struck him from behind. Lights danced behind Jaskier's eyes and he collapsed to his hands and knees as he tried to regain his senses. The lute case was yanked off his shoulder before a rope was wrapped around his neck and he was yanked upwards. Jaskier choked a wheezing breath as he stood on his toes and tried to relieve the pressure. 

Adrenaline immediately flooded his system and he had a vague thought that there was no way to flee and he was hardly able to fight his unseen attacker. Fear battled with survival as he clawed at the rope. It had been thrown up over one of the large beams and before he could try to loosen it's grip on his throat, his hands were pulled behind his back. They were lashed together with the other end of the rope, pulling them up behind him at a painful angle. Pulling his arms back down to ease his shoulders tightened the noose on his neck. Loosening the noose's pressure to allow him to breathe easier, but made his shoulders scream. There was just enough slack to give him a choice of where he could stand the most pain. A scrap of fabric was shoved in Jaskier's mouth before he could even take a breath to scream. His muffled whimper was cut off by a gagging cough deep in throat as he struggled to breathe through his nose.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” an unfamiliar voice hissed. Fingers threaded in Jaskier's hair before yanking his head up and making him groan behind the gag. A strange man sneered in his face. 

“He's just a customer.” Elihal's voice quavered. “He came to check on an order.” 

“Nobody asked you, Elf scum,” the man spat. 

“I told you, I'm not-” Elihal broke off in a pained cry as one of the thugs struck him across the face. 

The sneering man released Jaskier, leaving him to precariously balance on his toes before turning back to the Elf. He strode over and held his hand out, letting it hover over over Elihal who cowered in the chair. The man's hand moved behind the chair where the Elf's hands were bound. Reaching down, he did something before holding up the golden circlet that had been around his wrist. Jaskier didn't notice any changes since the illusion didn't work on him, but the man's sneer became a grin of triumph. 

“You thought you could hide from us. There has been Elven magic cast here. Old magic. It must have come from you.” He cupped Elihal's chin and tilted his head up. “Who do you work for?”

“I'm self employed. The only magic I perform is a simple cleaning cantrip.” Elihal licked at the blood from his split lip and winced. 

“You're lying.” The man turned back to Jaskier when Elihal's frightened eyes flicked in his direction. “Don't look at him. He's a pathetic disgrace.” The man nodded at someone behind Jaskier. His hands were suddenly yanked down, making the noose around his neck tighten. He choked as he tried desperately to balance on his toes, but they were barely brushing the floor at this point. The force of trying to breathe made him spit the damp fabric out and it tumbled from his lips, trailing a line of spittle down his chin. But the pressure on his throat kept him from speaking. Or taking another breath. Jaskier started to choke in earnest and he felt the hot rush of blood in his face.

“I don't know what you want!” Elihal yelled as tears welled in his eyes. 

Before their captor could say anything else, a hollow swirling vortex opened with a low booming sound, the force of it scattering papers and scraps of fabric. There was yelling and fighting and a fierce wind whipping around the space. Jaskier was barely aware of what was happening as his vision was reduced to a narrow tunnel and darkness encroached from the outside edges. And then something cut the rope that held him up, making him fall painfully to the ground. The end coiled around his neck loosened enough to let him take a few gasping breaths but he couldn't pull it off with his hands bound behind him. There was a terrible, sharp tightness in his neck and trying to speak made his eyes roll back with the force of the pain. Another vortex opened with a boom and a gout of fire flowed through the air right in front of him. The heat of it baking the skin of his face. It was quickly followed by a woman swearing. 

Tall, black heeled boots entered Jaskier's line of sight where he lay on the floor on his side. He heard her asking him something but he couldn't understand the words. He struggled to rise only to flop back onto the floor as his vision started fading completely. His neck hurt unbearably, making his eyes water with tears. He thought he heard her voice again, but it sounded more curious than angry now. And then everything faded into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Evil cliffhanger. But it's only a couple of days until the next part. (I'm actually glad this chapter didn't fall on a Friday. Waiting the entire weekend to post again would have sucked.)


	13. Back on the Road

Jaskier woke with a start and wasn't sure what had roused him. His hand went instantly to his throat, but he felt nothing but smooth, unbroken skin beneath his fingers. There was no pain and an experimental hum told him there was nothing wrong with his voice. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw he was in a strange room lying in a large, canopied bed. There was a nagging feeling that he should be worried, but all he felt was confused. His eyes landed on the only other figure in the room. A woman with shining black hair that fell in waves past her shoulders sat at the foot of the bed looking away from him. 

“Hello,” he said cautiously. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. There was something about her that frightened him. “Well. Yes. Okay, then. Not to be untoward, but did we. . .” He gulped when she turned around and started crawling up the bed toward him. She was the most terrifying woman he'd ever seen. There was a smoldering power beneath the surface of her skin and it licked at him even a distance, like she'd burn him alive from the inside if he allowed her to touch him. “Oh. Ah. No. Definitely didn't butter that biscuit,” he said, stumbling over his words as he scrambled across the bed and off the other side. Where were his boots? “It's been lovely. . . I think. But I really should be going.”

She followed him and stepped off the bed, her silky white gown slithering over perfect skin. Gods, she was gorgeous. And scary. He nearly tripped off of the platform the bed was sitting on. His boots were sitting next to a chair by the door and his doublet was draped across the seat. Had she started to undress him? Jaskier looked down to see that he was only wearing his chemise and trousers. A wave of force suddenly shoved him across the room and slammed his back into the wall. He cried out in fear as he felt a wash of magic prickling across his skin. It stung as it pressed him into the wood paneling. 

“How's your throat?” she asked him, her voice a low purr. 

“Fine. Fine. I'm fine. Please. . .” He swallowed. “P-please don't hurt me.” 

Her gaze raked over him, making him feel like some sort of specimen she was considering dissecting one piece at a time. She paused a couple feet away, her violet eyes boring into him.

“How did you do it?”

“Um.” Jaskier fought not to let his voice quaver. “Do what?”

“Heal yourself.”

“I didn't. . .I don't. . .what are you talking about?”

She advanced on him and he went up on his toes as she gripped his dick hard in her hand, making him whimper. When she brought his knife toward his throat, it seemed like the lesser threat. 

“Do not lie to me. Your throat was half crushed and now it's fine. I certainly didn't do anything. So.” She brought the knife up higher so the cool metal kissed his skin. “How did you heal yourself? You're not a mage.”

“N-no. I'm n-not,” Jaskier stammered.

“Then what are you?” 

“I'm just a bard,” he gasped as her grip on his crotch tightened. He blew out a soft breath as his eyes started to water. He squeezed them shut and turned his head carefully away from her, wishing very much that he could leave this place forever. “Please,” whispered desperately.

“Yennefer!” Geralt's distorted voice made them both jump. Jaskier nearly cried in relief when he heard him, but he didn't see him anywhere when he open his eyes and scanned the room. The woman, presumably Yennefer, rolled her eyes.

“For the love of. . .” she trailed off and released Jaskier abruptly, nearly making him fall, before stalking over to the dresser on the far wall. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was sulking. She took out a round object that was glowing and held it up to her mouth.

“What do you want, Geralt?” She snapped. “I'm busy.”

“Give him back!” The Witcher sounded pissed. Did he mean Jaskier? The thought gave him a swirling feeling of warmth in his belly.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” Yennefer drawled.

“You took my bard. Give him back to me,” Geralt growled. 

Yennefer looked at Jaskier again, making him freeze where he'd started to creep towards his boots. Her look became more considering, like he had suddenly become more interesting. “And if I don't?”

“If I have to come find you, you will not like it.” The Witcher's voice was low and dangerous.

Yennefer didn't seem to be impressed, but her mouth thinned and her eyes narrowed as she stared at Jaskier. She seemed to be making some sort of decision, like she was weighing her options. But she didn't say anything. Jaskier suddenly felt something starting to push at him from the inside. His head started to pound and a tart, sweet smell filled his nose. Then it started to hurt like someone was trying to pry open a door that wouldn't budge with the screech of nails stubbornly holding and refusing to let it be forced. But the door was in his head and the nails were digging into his brain. Jaskier screamed and fell to his knees, gripping his hair and tugging in a futile attempt to ground himself. 

“YENNEFER!” Geralt's voice boomed through the room, the distortion twisting the sound painfully. 

Yennefer huffed and the pain suddenly subsided, leaving Jaskier to collapse bonelessly onto the floor, his breath coming out in short, sobbing pants. She thrust her hand out and opened another swirling vortex, making a strong wind kick up in the room. The object she'd been speaking into was shut off, cutting off Geralt's angry voice before being tossed back into the drawer she'd taken it out of.

“Don't think for a moment that we're done with this conversation,” Yennefer said to Jaskier, her voice threatening. 

He wasn't given the opportunity to reply as he was dragged across the floor and thrown through the vortex. A searing swirl of disorientation made him dizzy and his mind collapsed in on itself as it was seemingly overwhelmed by the transition from one space to the next. He thought he smelled the scent of burnt timber, but he was unconscious before he even hit the floor.

*******

Jaskier woke slowly to find himself curled on his side in his bedroll. His limp body was rocking gently with the moment of whatever he was lying on. Looking up, he saw the familiar interior of the lead caravan wagon. They must be moving, but why was he sleeping inside during the day? His boots and doublet were sitting over to one side. He must have take them off before napping. Maybe? He'd been having the most horrible nightmare. There had been a strange woman who tried to take apart his brain. He took a shuddering breath as the memory flashed bright enough to make him realize that it hadn't been a dream at all.

“Welcome back, boy,” Professor Ernan said as he set his notebook in his lap where he was sitting at the rear end of the wagon.

“What happened? Where are we?” Jaskier winced as he shifted in the blankets. His muscles protested the movement and his head throbbed lightly. The sun was low in the sky, just sinking below the tops of the trees.

“Easy,” the older man soothed and handed him a water skin. “You've been asleep for a couple of days.”

Jaskier sat up and took the skin but let his hand fall to his lap as he looked out of the back of the wagon. “I was with someone. Elihal. Is he-”

“I'm right here” the Elf said as he appeared at the back of the wagon and kept pace behind it. The left side of his face was covered in mottled bruises. “Geralt,” the Elf said, gesturing to his left. “He's awake.”

Jaskier felt the wagon's path shift as they pulled over toward the side of the road. He drank some water now that his immediate concern was satisfied. And then he scooched his way down to the end of the wagon so he could sit with his legs hanging down off the back. He wanted to get closer to the Elf, but wasn't quite sure his legs would hold him if he tried to stand, so he stayed sitting. Elihal closed the distance and wrapped him in a hug. 

“I was so worried,” Elihal said, his voice muffled in Jaskier's shoulder. When he pulled back, he cupped Jaskier's face in his hands. “When she took you through the portal, I didn't think I'd ever see you again.”

“Is that what that was? Who were those men?”

Elihal shook his head. “I have no idea. They kept asking me about magic, and I told them I didn't use it except in the most limited capacity.” 

Roach came into sight and Geralt dismounted before hooking the reigns to the end of the wagon. He came up beside Elihal, who stepped aside to give him room. The Witcher looked Jaskier up and down before cupping his chin and looking him in the eye. His nostrils flared just as Jaskier caught a whiff of the sweet perfume from earlier. 

“Did she hurt you?” Geralt asked quietly. 

“She threatened to, but didn't get very far before you interrupted her questioning. Then I think she tried to pry my head open from the inside.” He blinked as Geralt's expression darkened, making that warm sensation swirl in his belly again. Jaskier winced as his head started aching and, closing his eyes as an echo of the pain lanced through his head again. He felt Geralt's fingers gently start massaging the base of his skull and he leaned back into the touch as it loosened the tight muscles along his scalp. The ache started to ease and he took a deep breath.

“It will fade,” Geralt told him as he gently smoothed the hair at Jaskier's nape before removing his hand again. “Yennefer doesn't bother with subtlety when she wants something, but it generally doesn't do permanent damage.”

“How do you know her?”

Geralt's face closed off. “She's a sorceress. We met a long time ago.”

“I thought you said that mages wouldn't have any interest in me. She kept asking how I healed myself but I have no idea. I didn't even know I was injured that badly.” He looked at Elihal when the Elf let out a shuddering breath. “What?”

“I heard something crunch in your throat when they tried to hang you,” he said quietly, a pained expression on his face. “I thought. . .”

Jaskier swallowed and felt Geralt's fingers brushing the skin of his neck. But there was no pain.

“What happened after that? I don't remember much.”

“The sorceress came in and trounced them. The leader escaped and she tried to set him on fire, but the only thing that burned was my shop.” 

“I'm sorry.” That explained the smell of burnt timber that Jaskier remembered.

“Well, it was nearly time to move on anyway.” The Elf's slender shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug, but Jaskier could tell he felt the loss more deeply than he was letting on. “Stellan has graciously agreed to allow me to accompany the caravan.”

“Will you be able to start over. . ?” Jaskier wasn't quite sure how to continue that thought out loud without giving away what he was trying to hide. He knew the caravan would accept him easily, but it wasn't Jaskier's secret to share. 

“An Elven tailor's skills are always in demand. The enchantment was destroyed in the fire,” he said when Jaskier's brows rose. “Have no worries for my fate, dear friend, for I will land on my feet as always. And it's long past the time I should have stopped hiding. I know some people that I can stay with for a while.”

“But what about the shop? Was there anything left?”

“It wasn't a total loss. I've all the basic tools and enough threads and fabrics to get started. Some of my personal belongings are unscathed. It was far less of a loss than it could have been.” Elihal's expression softened. “I am far more grateful for your safe return.”

“Okay.” Jaskier blew out a breath and eased himself down off the back of the wagon. Elihal and Geralt helped steady him when he faltered. And then he was engulfed by a hug as Vaz came forward and nearly lifted him off his feet.

“You idiot,” the man muttered as he squeezed him. “I thought you fucking died.”

“Is Brett okay?”

“I'm fine,” Brett said from horseback as he rode up from the rear. He dismounted and came over to squeeze his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Jaskier was a bit overwhelmed at the moment, if he was honest with himself. He wasn't quite sure what to do with all of the care he was being shown and he had to swallow the lump that was growing in his throat. He'd spent his whole life being controlled, but mostly ignored as being an irritating annoyance. Up until now, Essi had been one of the only ones to give a damn about him. But now he suddenly had so many people invested in his welfare. He didn't think it was just because they'd been hired to protect him either. Jaskier looked around for a moment, noticing the absence of Yarpen and his company for the first time.

“Where are the Dwarves?”

“They headed west towards Blaviken after we passed through Yspaden and found you were safe,” Vaz said. “Yarpen said to tell you you're always welcome to travel with him if your paths ever cross again.”

Jaskier was both heartened and sad. He was grateful for the invitation and fully intended to take him up on his offer. But he was sorry to see them go. He hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye.

“Alright,” Stellan said from the front of the wagon. “Everybody get their warm fuzzies? We need to move a little farther before we set up camp for the night.” 

Brett and Vaz rolled their eyes before patting Jaskier on the back and heading back to their places. When Elihal shifted to help Jaskier back into the wagon, he shook his head.

“I don't want to ride.”

“Well, you're certainly not walking,” the Elf said as he kept his hand on Jaskier's shoulder when he tottered on his feet. But when he opened his mouth to argue, Geralt huffed and lifted him up to place him on Roach's back before mounting behind him. Jaskier sighed, not sure how he felt about the compromise, but he also wasn't sure who was benefiting more at the moment. The arm that curled around his middle held him a little tighter than necessary, but he didn't say anything as he leaned back into Geralt's chest. Jaskier turned his head to look down at Elihal who started walking beside them as they set off.

“My lute?”

“It was mercifully spared from the flames. It's packed with my things in the rear wagon.” 

Jaskier let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

“With the sound of your music, I had assumed it was of greater quality.”

“It was the only thing I could afford,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “It sounds good enough.” 

“In your hands, perhaps,” Elihal admitted. “I doubt it would sound so sweet under anyone else's touch.”

Jaskier wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but he was too tired to worry about it at the moment. They traveled on for a bit before coming to another way station. When Roach came to a stop, Geralt dismounted and pulled Jaskier down into his arms. He felt himself flush as the other man carried him over to the stone benches by the cold fire pit. Jaskier said nothing as he felt fatigue sneaking up on him far quicker than usual. Everyone else bustled around getting gear out for the night and preparing for getting the evening meal ready. Geralt quickly picketed Roach and brought his and Jaskier's things over, including the lute. Jaskier pulled it closer but left it in the case. He watched as Geralt twisted his fingers in a pattern that set the logs in the fire pit alight. 

“When you put me to sleep that first time, was that a Witcher's sign too?”

Geralt looked back at Jaskier before coming over to sit at his side. He settled on the stone seat next to him and sighed quietly before speaking. “Yes. It was expedient at the time.” 

“Please don't do it again.” Jaskier had been manhandled and ensorceled enough for the time being. He wasn't sure why he was bringing it up now, but he suddenly didn't want Geralt to manipulate him like that. The aftermath of dealing with monsters had never left him quite so drained as dealing with mistreatment by humans. 

“If it makes it easier for me to protect you, I will,” Geralt said after another moment. 

Jaskier closed his eyes. He shouldn't have expected much more that that. He shivered and he wasn't sure it was from the cold. He'd almost died, but he wasn't sure why it bothered him so much now. He'd been shadowed by the specter death several times since coming into the Wood. Why was this last brush so frightening? His touched his throat again as he felt a blanket being draped around his shoulders. Jaskier slumped against Geralt's shoulder, resting his head there as he pulled the fabric tighter around him. The other man was solid and warm. And despite how he'd basically said he'd disregard Jaskier's wishes a moment before, he felt safe with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe, Yennefer and Geralt met under different circumstances. They're still tied by the wish and the Jinn, but it happened long before Jaskier met either one of them.


	14. Parting of the Ways

Jaskier stayed up long after they'd eaten dinner and everyone had gone to bed for the night. Even though he'd been unconscious for two days, it seemed that sleep was out of his grasp since the time he spent laying in the wagon hadn't provided him any real rest. He felt tired and stretched from the inside out somehow. Geralt sat at his side still, staring silently into the fire.

“I think they knew me,” Jaskier said. 

“Who?”

“The men who came for Elihal. I think they knew who I was.” Jaskier took a breath and fought not to rub at his throat again. The sensation of being hung from the rope and choking would haunt him for a while yet. “The one in charge, the one Yennefer tried to set on fire. He asked his men what I was doing there. Like he knew me.” His lips thinned. The man had called him a pathetic disgrace. There was only one place on the Continent where he'd been labeled with that particular distinction. But what would someone from Lettenhove be doing here? Jaskier thought about Dell, who had left the caravan so suddenly. He turned to look at Geralt.

“What did you say to Dell?”

“I told him to go back.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn't safe for him to stay.”

“Safe for who, exactly?” Jaskier asked, pressing for answers, knowing that he'd might get them if persisted. Unless he got stonewalled again. He figured he'd never get answers about Yennefer from the way the man had clammed up when he'd asked about her before.

“There are some people who have less than pure intentions. And he was paying far too much attention to you.”

Looking at the Witcher's stony face told Jaskier it wasn't jealousy he was seeing. He'd learned how that expression presented itself on Geralt's face when he'd started spending time with Elihal. There was something about the Witcher that seemed more than just an interest in his safety. Unless he was reading too much into it. But Jaskier was a fair judge of people most of the time. His intuition failed him often enough that it wasn't absolute, but the more time he spent with Geralt, the more he learned to read his face, his body language. And while the different tones of his gruff words probably sounded the same to others, he was realizing that there was a roving scale of grunts and terse responses, all with their own meanings.

Gods, he was getting philosophical. And he wasn't even drunk. 

“I thought he looked familiar when I first saw him. But I didn't know him.” Jaskier waited for Geralt to ask him about his past and what his real name was. Anyone would know that Jaskier wasn't his given name. But he didn't. Geralt just sat staring into the flames. It was on the tip of Jaskier's tongue to tell him anyway. To spill all of his hurts and fears, to lay himself open for the other man to see. And then the impulse passed and he curled inward, like he was trying to protect himself. There were things happening that were completely out of his control. 

He loved the Wood and adored performing. There was nowhere else he'd rather be. But it was starting to feel like there was a rubber band tethering him to Lettenhove. And there was also something taught drawing him forward, pulling him further into the forest. Like a memory just out of his grasp that kept fading the harder he tried to reach for it. He was afraid that one day the rubber band would twang and pull him back, tearing him apart before he could figure out what was going on. Curling up in front of the fire, he settled into the blanket and waited for sleep to come.

*******

Traveling was a bit more subdued after that. Jaskier felt well enough to walk the next day and he pulled out his lute to play which usually made him feel better. But his fingers stumbled over the strings and the melodies he tried didn't have the clarity he was usually able to achieve. He slung the instrument over his shoulder in frustration and let it hang from the strap. There were questions and he didn't have any answers. He trudged along next to the lead wagon until they paused at midday for a break. He sat on the back of the wagon, swinging his legs idly. Elihal sat at his side, examining a shirt Vaz asked him to repair. The others were either eating or taking a moment to stretch their legs after riding all morning. 

“What did the town guard say about the fire?” Jaskier asked the Elf. “Did they catch any of those men?”

“No. The leader got away and there wasn't enough of his men left to catch.”

“How do you get out? Did Yennefer help you?”

Elihal snorted, a grimace curling his lips. “Hardly. She was far too preoccupied with setting fire to everything within reach. Fortunately, the flames immediately went out when she took you thorough the portal.” He'd dropped the shirt into his lap to give Jaskier his full attention. “Geralt showed up not long after that looking for you and set me loose. I grabbed what I could carry and we snuck out of town. And then he contacted the sorceress.”

“Yeah. I heard the other end of that conversation,” Jaskier muttered as he remembered the encounter.

Elihal swallowed. “Your Witcher is. . .frightening when he's worried.”

Jaskier looked around but didn't see Geralt anywhere. After sitting with him the night before, the other man had gone back to keeping his distance again. “He wasn't too much of an asshole, was he?”

“No.” The Elf gave him a quiet smile. “I believe he was entirely too focused on finding you to worry about me. It was a relief in more ways than one when you were returned.” 

Jaskier thought about that as they started out again and he went back to walking. He remembered how furious Geralt had sounded when he was shouting at Yennefer to give him back. And he'd called Jaskier _his _bard. There was a tightening low in his belly and a surge of warmth. He pulled out his lute again and started playing. The music was maudlin and wistful, a mix of hope and promise. He trailed off as he realized he didn't know how to finish it. He felt an odd pang in his heart and walked in silence for the rest of the day.__

__*******_ _

__Something seemed to have changed since Yspaden, and it wasn't just Jaskier's growing apprehension that something was wrong. But it didn't really become clear until two days later when they reached a crossroads and stopped to read the sign. The branch to the southwest went to Tridam in Redania, south headed on towards Gelibol, and the southeast road went to Ard Carraigh, the capitol of Kaedwen, which was the closest Modern City to Lettenhove. Stellan drew Jaskier aside away from the rest of the group with his arm across his shoulders. But instead of feeling like a comradely gesture, Jaskier felt nervous. Geralt dismounted and followed them, leading Roach by the reigns._ _

__“This is where we part ways, Jaskier,” Stellan said with a heavy sigh._ _

__“What? Why?” He felt his heart drop into his stomach._ _

__“Our plans have changed and we need to head to the West. We'll be going to Tridam and then on to Oxenfurt.”_ _

__“Okay,” Jaskier said carefully. “The road itself doesn't concern me much. I-”_ _

__“We can't afford for you to travel with us.” The other man's lips thinned, his eyes pleading for Jaskier to understand. “You've become too much of a risk.”_ _

__“It's not my fault,” he said._ _

__“No, it's not.” Stellan rested his hands on Jaskier's shoulders. “If it were up to me, I would take you wherever you wanted to go. But there is more going on than you're aware of.”_ _

__“I gathered that from the first week of traveling with you,” Jaskier said, his lips firming in annoyance as he willed his disappointment away. “I've always known you weren't telling me everything. What's going on?”_ _

__“It's safer if you don't know,” Stellan told him gravely._ _

__Jaskier looked at the others. Vaz looked extremely unhappy and Brett wouldn't even meet his eyes. “You're just going to leave me here?”_ _

__“Geralt will take you to Ard Carraigh.” His hands squeezed Jaskier's shoulders when he opened his mouth to protest. “It was already getting dangerous when your abilities started to manifest. But there's higher magic involved now. You need to lay low and stay out of sight for a while. Staying in the Tech will make you harder to find.”_ _

__Jaskier's heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest and his breath started shuddering. It wasn't fair. He felt Geralt move up behind him, his presence a steady weight at his back. It settled him somewhat, but his nerves were still singing. “What about Elihal and Ernan?”_ _

__“The professor will be fine, and your friend was already preparing to leave.” He released his shoulders and took a step back as Elihal came over._ _

__“I was going to tell you,” the Elf said. “But I am not overly fond of goodbyes.”_ _

__“Where will you go from here?”_ _

__“I have friends not too far from here. I only intended to travel with the caravan until we got closer.” Elihal reached out and took Jaskier's hands. “I'm going to head towards Novigrad eventually. Come and find me there when you figure out where you belong.”_ _

__Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt responsible for what had happened and wasn't quite sure how to make it up to him. He didn't even know what to say. “Safe travels,” was all he could think of._ _

__*******_ _

__An hour later, he was traveling along the road toward Ard Carraigh, trailing behind Roach quietly._ _

__“They weren't after Elihal, were they?”_ _

__“No, they weren't.” Geralt spoke without looking at him._ _

__“Do they have something to do with Stellan and the caravan? Do you know what they're really doing?”_ _

__“Like he said, it's probably safer if you don't know.” Geralt said, his tone bored. “And it's no concern of mine.”_ _

__“I thought your were a friend of his.”_ _

__“I don't have friends.”_ _

__“Not this again,” Jaskier huffed and took his lute out to give himself something to do with his hands. “You're not the soulless, brooding hulk you pretend to be,” he muttered sourly. He plucked out a few angry notes._ _

__“You have an overactive imagination.”_ _

__“Are all Witchers as cantankerous and grumpy as you are?” Truth be told, it was a strangely endearing trait that Jaskier had grown rather fond of, but right now, Geralt's quiet grumble just annoyed him. The other man didn't answer and he strummed a staccato trill of sound. All it did was make Roach flick her ears and let out an irritated whicker._ _

__“If you continue to annoy my horse, I will take it away from you.”_ _

__“What the fuck am I going to do in Ard Carraigh? I'm broke except for what I have on me, and the exchange rate for crowns to credit was practically highway robbery last time I checked.”_ _

__Geralt eyed him. “How did you pay for passage? Caravan escorts don't come cheap.”_ _

__“A _friend _,” Jaskier said with deliberate emphasis. “You don't have any of those, remember?”___ _

____Geralt grunted, but he wasn't quite sure what it meant this time._ _ _ _

____“And besides, I'll be bored shitless.”_ _ _ _

____“What did you do before you entered the Wood?”_ _ _ _

____Jaskier was a bit surprised he was asking, but didn't want to disrupt whatever conversation he was able to coax out of him. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. “Not much, to be honest. I made some videos and posted them online. That's uh. . .moving images and I uploaded them. . .erm. That's when-”_ _ _ _

____“I know what the internet is,” Geralt growled._ _ _ _

____“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed. . .never mind.” Jaskier puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath. “I was working on a degree in Liberal Arts. Not much I can do with it even if I finish school.” He paused, wondering how much he was going to tell him. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention his family again, but Jaskier didn't want to spoil things by bringing them into it. “Have you been to a Modern City before?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes.”_ _ _ _

____When he didn't continue, Jaskier huffed a laugh. “Ah, there you are. The monosyllabic master of conversational skills. How I've missed you.”_ _ _ _

____Geralt sighed and although he couldn't quite see his face from this angle, Jaskier was sure he'd rolled his eyes. It made him smile for some reason, but his expression sobered after a moment._ _ _ _

____“Have you always traveled alone?” At first, Jaskier wasn't sure he'd answer but apparently, he was just choosing his words._ _ _ _

____“It's easier. This life is not safe for companions and the Path is meant to be traveled alone.”_ _ _ _

____“The Path?”_ _ _ _

____“The Witcher's Path. It's a. . .philosophy of sorts. We're trained to fight and travel without the aid of others. It's a distraction to protect someone else on a hunt.”_ _ _ _

____“I'm keeping you from working, aren't I?”_ _ _ _

____“Stellan has compensated me for my time.” Geralt drew a deep breath. “It's fine,” he finished quietly._ _ _ _

____That was odd to hear. The other man had been annoyed by his presence in the beginning and hadn't reacted to his flirting beyond frowns and irritated growls. He'd manhandled him with a complete disregard for his personal space and wishes and had threatened to leave him behind on more than one occasion. But now there was a strangely grudging acceptance in his voice. And if Jaskier didn't know better, he almost sounded disappointed that they'd be parting ways._ _ _ _

____“Do Witchers ever retire?”_ _ _ _

____“When they slow and get killed,” Geralt replied calmly, like he was declaring that the sky was blue._ _ _ _

____“No. I mean, when you're done with all the monster hunting. Have you thought about what you might do? Is there anything you want?”_ _ _ _

____“I don't need anything.”_ _ _ _

____“You must want something for yourself.” Jaskier's voice came out more plaintive then he intended. He wasn't quite sure how to read Geralt's expression when he looked down at him from the saddle. It wasn't a frown really, but it wasn't a happy look. And it encompassed Jaskier so completely, he nearly stopped walking. Then the Witcher turned back to the road, riding silently in the waning light. His expression went flat and neutral like he hadn't just been staring with the intensity of a starving man who'd just been offered his first meal in weeks._ _ _ _

____Jaskier let out a long, slow breath and kept walking quietly at Geralt's side. His heart had started to trip and his belly whirled with a tingling that was reminiscent of the sensation he got while crossing the border. Geralt's body language was relaxed and calm and he looked bored now. Had Jaskier imagined all of that? Maybe his imagination really was making things up. He stared at the road ahead and tried to get himself under control. He really wasn't sure what he was going to do when he was alone again._ _ _ _

____*******_ _ _ _

____They saw the city long before they got anywhere near it. The spires of Ard Carraigh rose above the landscape, their steel and glass exteriors shining in the mid-morning sun. It was beautiful in a way Jaskier hadn't expected. He'd grown up in Lettenhove, but it wasn't nearly as large as the metropolis that spilled its way down the side of the mountain ahead and down into the surrounding hills. The demarcation of the border was a stark contrast between modern construction and ancient buildings. It was an odd juxtaposition of old and new._ _ _ _

____Ard Carraigh was one of the three main Modern Cities in the north. The other two were Cidaris on the western coast and Lyria to the southeast. And then there was Rinde. But nobody knew what went on there. It had cut itself off from the rest of the world decades ago. Nobody answered calls and anyone who went in, didn't come back out again. It had been designated as a no man's land that people entered at their own risk._ _ _ _

____One of the odd quirks of the magical forest that had appeared hundreds of years ago during the Conjunction was that it allowed electronic communication between cities even though there were no towers in between to carry the signals. The internet had been adapted so people could stay in contact and transfer information over large distances. Physical trade was limited to raw materials because anything manufactured with modern tech degraded over time. The magic of the Wood didn't spare anything. Each city had been forced to develop their own self sufficient industries over time to make what they needed._ _ _ _

____Jaskier and Geralt were currently traveling through wide fields that stretched away from them towards the first smattering of buildings between them and the border. About a half mile to the south, a patch of forest rose up, thick and dark. It had somehow escaped the logging and clear cutting that had stripped the rest of the land of trees. Jaskier paused on the side of the road and felt a shiver travel up his spine as he watched the shadows. It felt like there was something watching back. A flock of crows burst out of the trees into the air, making him jump. He stroked the strings of the lute, playing a soft melody to soothe his suddenly jangled nerves._ _ _ _

____The music came to him easier than it had in days and he felt his shoulders relaxing as he let his eyes slipped closed. He continued to play and felt the notes slide along his skin like living things. The last sound faded and he opened his eyes to see the grasses of the fields swaying in the early evening breeze. Everything around them was calm and the trees seemed a little less menacing than they had moments before. There was a shuddering sigh behind him and Jaskier turned to see Geralt sitting in the saddle with his head tilted forward and his eyes closed._ _ _ _

____“Are you alright?”_ _ _ _

____“It's fine,” Geralt growled as he raised his head and urged Roach forward again. He didn't look at Jaskier. “Come on. I want to cross the border before nightfall.”_ _ _ _

____“What's in there?” Jaskier nodded at the dark clump of trees._ _ _ _

____“Ancient things that don't wish to be disturbed. Even Witchers avoid places like that.”_ _ _ _

____Jaskier took one last look into the forest before following Geralt toward the city. He didn't notice the branches that tilted in their direction as they moved further away._ _ _ _


	15. City on the Mountain

Jaskier stared at the sign at the border between the Wood and the outer limits of Ard Carraigh, eyeing the rust that had started to make it crumble. He frowned. Why would they build it so close that it started to degrade? That seemed like a waste. Geralt was already waiting on the other side, an impatient twist to his lips in the growing twilight. Jaskier wasn't sure why he was hesitating. Taking a deep breath, he stepped across the invisible barrier. His breath left him in a sudden rush, leaving him gasping like he'd just run a mile and he had to lean forward to brace his hands on his knees. A thin, tingling itch stretched across his skin like a tight net ensnaring his limbs. He didn't notice that Geralt had dismounted until he felt the other man's hand settle gently at the base of his neck.

“Breathe slow.” The low rumble of the Geralt's voice was soothing as it slid beneath the rush of blood in his ears. Jaskier struggled to comply as the air started to feel heavier, like it was harder to take into his lungs. 

“What is this?” he gasped.

“Your body has become accustomed to magic. Having it forcibly blocked can have negative physical affects.” Geralt settled him down so he was sitting with his head between his knees and started rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back. “It doesn't usually hit people this badly, but it should pass.”

Jaskier sat and focused on breathing as he slumped against Geralt where he was kneeling at his side. “Is it this difficult for you?”

“I've learned to adapt, but I don't make a habit of crossing over into the Tech. There's no work for a Witcher where there's no magic or monsters.” 

“This sucks,” Jaskier huffed. “I hate it.” The tightness in his chest had started to ease, but the net of tingling discomfort remained. He wondered if this is what Elihal had meant when he said it had itched the entire time he was here. Jaskier let Geralt draw him to his feet and they headed towards the way station down the road.

This one was a small complex of buildings. It had a stable and an inn with a small eatery, along with a store and a branch of the Ard Carraigh Municipal Bank. It made the field in Lettenhove look like a distant backwater. They stopped at the bank where Jaskier converted his crowns to credit and Geralt retrieved a pouch of coins from a lock box. He supposed that was one way to avoid fluctuating currency values. Jaskier watched in fascination as the Witcher's fingers danced easily over the keypad on the lock box terminal. 

“You can stop staring,” Geralt grumbled. “I'm not an idiot.”

“I didn't think you were,” Jaskier said and looked away. “I just. . .it's weird. All of this is weird.” His voice trailed off as he looked around the clean tiles of the bank lobby. He felt so out of place. He knew it would happen if he ever returned to a Modern City, but he didn't think it would be this strong and uncomfortable. Not that he'd ever imagined being back in this kind of environment again so soon. 

Jaskier followed Geralt outside where they'd left Roach at a hitching post on the street. If she was discomforted by the lack of magic, she didn't show it. Jaskier wished he could settle so easily. They left her there and went to get something to eat and booked a room. After dinner, they went to the inn. Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his pack and lute where they were propped against the dresser. Geralt hadn't put Roach in the stables or brought his bags inside. Something clenched inside Jaskier's chest at the thought of the other man leaving. When the Witcher moved towards the door without a word, Jaskier jumped up from the bed and scrambled across the room. 

“Wait. That's it?” Jaskier put himself in the doorway and blocked his way. Surely he'd say goodbye at least.

Geralt's lips thinned. “You're here in one piece. That's what I was paid for.”

“I just thought. . .” Jaskier wasn't sure what to say, but he didn't want him to go.

“It's late. Go to bed.” 

Jaskier huffed and narrowed his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. “You can't just put me to sleep with magic and leave me behind this time.”

Geralt eyed him for a moment before reaching out and gripping Jaskier's upper arms. He shifted him easily, steering him back towards the bed. Apparently his muscles weren't magical. Jaskier felt a quiver in his belly as the back of his legs bumped into the edge of the mattress. He put his hands on Geralt's chest, feeling the nubbled expanse of studded leather under his fingers. The other man was entirely too close and his expression was clouded with something he'd only seen glimpses of before. Jaskier was suddenly desperate to stay with him to see where it would lead.

“Let me come with you,” Jaskier whispered.

“I can't.”

“Why? It's not the the danger and it doesn't annoy as much as you pretend. You wouldn't have brought me this far otherwise.” 

It was becoming gradually more clear as to why the other man had put up with him for so long. Jaskier just wished he noticed it sooner. He let out a startled sound as Geralt's lips suddenly pressed against his own. Strong arms encircled him, drawing his body flush against the Witcher and the horsepinesweat scent of him was overwhelming in the best way. Jaskier returned the kiss almost immediately and tried to burrow into him, pressing close. When they parted, Geralt buried his face in Jaskier's neck, leaving him dazed. The Witcher's embrace was the only thing holding him up. 

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed.

“I cannot afford this.” Geralt's voice was muffled against the skin of his neck, the rumble of his voice making Jaskier shiver. His eyes started slipping closed and he had to blink rapidly to keep his them open. It felt like his whole body was relaxing and no matter how much he tried stand up straight. It felt unnatural and it started pulling him down.

“What did you do?” Jaskier mumbled sleepily. 

“Go to sleep,” Geralt murmured as one of his hands slid up to thread through his hair.

“Please don't go.” Jaskier's voice was barely audible, but his muzzy thoughts told him that the other man heard him perfectly. He felt himself being gently lifted and laid down on the bed, his head cushioned by the soft pillow. The last thing Jaskier felt was lips brushing against his forehead. 

*******

When Jaskier woke, he was curled under the blankets on a soft bed. Late morning sun streamed in through the curtains over the window. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he stretched beneath the covers. Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. He didn't have to look around to see that Geralt was gone. The room felt empty without him. Jaskier closed his eyes and licked his lips, remembering the sensation of the other man's mouth on his own. That hadn't been fair. He'd felt something the first time Geralt had touched him when he'd dragged him up off the ground on his first trip into the Wood. Jaskier been intimidated and aroused in a way he hadn't expected. And even when the other man kept pushing him away, there had been something there. The Werecat had alluded to it and that had been fairly early in their journey. But now Geralt was gone and he had such a long head start, Jaskier was certain that even if he tried to follow, he'd never catch up to him. 

The Witcher had cheated again. But instead of using spells to put him to sleep this time, he must have drugged him somehow. Maybe he'd slipped something in his meal last night. Jaskier huffed a breath and threw back the covers. He couldn't just lay here and dwell on the dull ache that was starting to settle in his chest. He had to sit down and figure out where to go from here. His skin still itched and he headed into the bathroom to take a shower. Turning the temperature to as hot as he could stand it, he stood under the spray and let the water wash over his skin. The tingling tightness was still there and he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. If he was going to stay here, he needed money. And he didn't want some crap job that would make him feel like even more of a failure. Everything was already fucked up and he didn't need to make himself any more miserable than he already was. Tapping into his trust fund felt like the lesser evil at this point.

Jaskier dressed in the silver gray outfit and looked at himself in the mirror. The golden embroidery that had looked so elegant and refined in candlelight, now appeared garish and gaudy under the harsh fluorescent bulbs. He needed a change of clothes. And a computer and phone. And a place to stay for a few days, maybe more. Jaskier sighed. He already hated it here. 

He checked out of the inn early and stopped into the bank one more time. The teller behind the counter gave him a flat look when he requested a chip card so he could access his account at the shops in the city. 

“Just a moment, sir.” 

Jaskier watched her go and closed his eyes, counting to ten as he tried not to get irritated. Sure enough, she brought a manager over to deal with him.

“Can I help you, sir.”

“Indeed,” Jaskier said, plastering an indulgent smile on his face. “As I told the lovely lady, I'd like you to issue me a chip card to access my account.”

“And you are?”

“Julian Pankratz. As I said.”

“And you don't have any identification?”

“As I just came from the Wood, no, I don't. And it appears you don't recognize Bills of Naming.” Jaskier chose to ignore the teller rolling her eyes.

“Please place your palm on the scanner, sir,” the manager said tightly.

Jaskier waited for the panel to slide clear to expose the palm scanner embedded in the counter and placed his hand flat on the cool glass. It warmed under his hand as light slid up and down the display. If they had just pulled it out to begin with, this whole farce wouldn't have been necessary. The terminal in front of the teller chirped and the manager's eyes rose up past the rim of his glasses. 

“My apologies, Mr. Pankratz,” he said, nodding his head nervously in respect. “Just a moment.” He waved the teller away and she retreated to the back office. Jaskier wasn't sure what he hated more, the general disdain when they thought he was nobody or the overly apologetic politeness now that they knew who he was. He accepted the card with a quiet thank you and left the bank quickly. He was sure rumors would travel and Ferrant would hear about his wayward cousin emerging from the Wood dressed like a traveling performer. Jaskier honestly didn't give a fuck anymore. 

After shopping for some street clothes including jeans, a few shirts, a pair of comfortable ankle boots, and a soft blue flannel shirt, he bundled his things into the rental car he'd picked up down the street from the bank. He could have taken public transportation, but he wanted a little more control at the moment. It wouldn't take a psychologist to figure out why. There were too many things happening around him that were far out of his scope. But he could deal with driving. The next stop was a dry cleaner near the border that specialized in laundering clothing designed for the Wood. Most of the shops in that area catered to people traveling to and from the city and there was an array of natural goods for those leaving, and tech for people coming in that wanted to hook back into the network as soon as possible.

He bought a low end analog phone and a laptop with a fully charged battery from an electronics store before settling at a small cafe to search for a place to stay. He didn't want anything long term because he wasn't planning on staying here. Jaskier refused to let himself feel like a failure. He'd gone into the Wood and gotten a taste of what he'd always wanted. The lively crowds at the inns he'd performed for had just been the first step. Now that he'd gotten his feet wet, so to speak, he could start focusing on his career in earnest. 

Jaskier smiled up at the waitress that brought him a flavored coffee and a breakfast biscuit with eggs and bacon. He had to flip his hair off his forehead to see her properly. He needed a haircut. But the waitress smiled back warmly and he saw that there was a number written on the napkin under the plate. Hmm. Maybe. Jaskier felt his mood lifting as he picked up the mug and watched her leave, savoring the aroma of properly made coffee. The prepared packs he'd put together for traveling had worked well enough in a pinch but this was so much better. 

Flipping open the laptop with one hand, he took a sip of hot coffee with the other. He needed to send an email to Essi and let her know he was okay. He should have penned a letter long before now. It had been weeks since he'd seen her. Logging into his account, he saw his inbox was flooded with messages from Ferrant asking him where he was and what he thought he was doing. The tone of the subject lines started at annoyed the day he left Lettenhove and quickly ramped up to nearly frantic in the last email two days ago. Jaskier immediately deleted all of them without reading a single one. 

There was an email from Sebastian asking if he wanted to hang out sometime. It was dated three weeks prior and Jaskier debated whether he was going to reply or not. Apparently Essi hadn't told anyone where he went which probably wasn't a bad thing. Jaskier opened a blank email and sent her a quick message telling her his new temp phone number and asking when she'd be available to talk. He'd have to check the settings on the laptop's camera to see if they could video chat or if he'd have to settle for just listening to her voice over the phone. 

Online, he found a whole host of short term rentals catering to people stopping in the city temporarily during longer trips through the Wood. He made appointments for later in the day to view some of them, putting the ones with views of the forest south of the city at the top of his list. Now that he had some modern gear and a change of clothes, he didn't loathe the idea of staying quite so badly. It was when he'd still been wearing his traveling gear that he felt the most out of place. Jaskier scratched idly at his shoulder where the persistent itch was still bothering him. The sensation had settled into the background, but staying long term would probably drive him a bit mad. 

After breakfast, he drove around the city to get acclimated and learn his way around before going over to his first appointment for viewing apartments. The very first one was a furnished unit on the sixth floor with a huge window in the main room overlooking the fields and the forest beyond. Jaskier signed with the estate agent without bothering to look at the rest. After going on a small supply run to get some food for a few days, he put a few things in the fridge and the cupboard in the kitchen. He hadn't bothered with dishes or silverware. He'd just use his camping gear. Jaskier didn't bother unpacking and just set his pack on the dresser next to the bed in the bedroom before setting his laptop up at the kitchen table. It gave him a view out the window where he could see the trees in the distance. When his phone blipped showing Essi's number, he settled down at the table and called her in the voice chat program on his laptop. 

“Julian, darling. Where are you?” Her eyes were bright and happy, but he could tell she had questions.

“Ard Carraigh.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you there? The caravan wasn't scheduled to stop in any Modern Cities. Is everything alright?”

“It's a long story,” he said with a sigh. “But yeah, it's fine. I had to make a pit stop for a bit after being on the road for so long. Stellan and the rest kept going.” He wasn't going to tell her why he was really here. It would just worry her needlessly.

“You look tired.” 

“I am a bit.” Even after sleeping all night and part of the morning, it hadn't left him particularly rested. “Traveling through the Wood is rough.” But it wasn't really. He'd felt energized and excited while on the road. It was only after dealing with humans and their complications that things got difficult. He gave her a rundown of the journey starting with meeting the caravan at the way station in Lettenhove. 

“Wait. You met a Witcher? A real, live Witcher? What was he like? Was he scary? Did he really have cat eyes? How did Stellan know him?”

Jaskier chuckled at her excitement. He'd felt much the same when he'd first seen Geralt while sitting in the tree. “Actually, I met him the first time when I tried to go in the Wood by myself,” he admitted ruefully.

“You mean when you nearly got your foot gnawed off?”

“It wasn't that bad,” he protested weakly. He suddenly heard Geralt's rumbling voice in his head telling him that yes, it had been that bad. Jaskier pursed his lips. “Yes. He saved my life, actually. Brought me back to Lettenhove a couple days before you came over to my place.”

“And how much did that cost?” she asked him.

Only my heart, Jaskier thought bitterly. “Nothing. He didn't ask me for anything,” he said flatly.

“Oh, Julian,” she murmured softly. She knew. Of course she knew. He'd never really been able to hide anything from her. She probably knew what he was thinking even if he hadn't said the first part out loud. Essi watched him sadly, her image on the camera making it look like she wanted to give him a hug. “I thought they didn't have emotions,” she said carefully.

“That's just bullshit.” Jaskier frowned. “I don't know if it's propaganda or just a myth, but they feel. At least Geralt does. He's the only one I've met so far, so I haven't exactly taken a poll or anything.”

“Geralt. The Geralt?”

“Yes, yes. The Butcher of Blaviken. Blah, blah, blah. Most of that is probably bullshit too. I don't know what really happened. Nobody does because the records are all sealed.” 

“But he's probably dangerous.”

Jaskier laughed bitterly. “Of course he is. He's everything they say and more. Or less, depending what it is. But honestly, after swimming with a Rusalka, dealing with a Werecat, and tons of racist shitheads, Geralt is the safest thing I've encountered so far.” Jaskier's face shifted into a pained grimace as he watched Essi's eyes widen in alarm. He hadn't really meant to tell her all that. But Geralt truly was the least of his worries where his safety was concerned. And hearing someone make assumptions about him made him angry, even if it was coming from a friend.

“Wow,” she said after a few moments of shocked silence. “You certainly seem to have some new stories to tell.” Essi opened her mouth but just blew out the breath in a long exhale without saying anything. After a few tense moments of silence, she spoke again, her voice soft. “Are you safe?”

“Yes,” he lied. He was surprised at how easy it was even if it made him feel a little ill. But between the muggers, Dell, and the men at Elihal's shop, he knew he was still in some sort of danger even if he didn't know what it was or where it was coming from. He wasn't about to tell her that though. He shifted the conversation to the better experiences he'd had along the way. She was delighted by the Dwarves and charmed by the idea of Elihal and his tailor shop. There was no reason to tell her that it burned down. 

By the time they said good night, darkness had fallen and he was getting hungry. Jaskier turned on the LED candles he'd bought and turned off the harsh, artificial lights. He couldn't see the forest anymore in the gloom and the stars were hidden by the glow of the city's lights. He couldn't wait to go back on the road again.


	16. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome new readers! Thank you so much for coming in to take a look.

Jaskier spent the next week prepping to go back into the Wood. He replenished his camping supplies and picked up his clothes from the dry cleaner. His traveling outfits were satisfactorily clean, but it wasn't the same as Elihal's cantrip. Not for the first time, he wished that he'd been able to learn that one. He'd only bought street clothes for a handful of days and he'd been using the apartment building's laundry room to wash them. The smell of chemical cleaners seemed unpleasant now. His boots had been polished and treated with natural oils that left them supple and fresh looking. Jaskier seriously considered shucking his current footwear and putting them on right then.

“The repairs were elegantly done,” the attendant said as she handed him the paper wrapped bundle. “I almost didn't notice that they weren't part of the original garment.”

“I have a friend who's a tailor,” Jaskier said lightly, not intending to give more information than that.

“They have a skilled hand, your friend. If they're interested, we'd be happy to send customers their way in some sort of mutual arrangement. We're always looking to make contacts with fellow craftsman.”

“He's not local. Sorry.” 

“Oh well,” she said, unconcerned. “There's no harm in asking. Have a nice day.”

Jaskier took the bundle and headed outside. For a moment, he'd been worried that she was digging for knowledge of Elihal and his whereabouts. But it had been a casual request, probably one that she'd made many times before. He was starting to get paranoid. Putting his clothes in the trunk of his car, he shut the lid with a thunk. There was a loud voice shouting across the street at the corner of an intersection. A man in a long, hooded gray robe was calling out to passerby, telling them that the end was coming. Jaskier has seen people like him in Lettenhove. They were mostly ignored because all they did was yell and they were mostly just a nuisance. But when the man caught sight of Jaskier, he locked eyes with him and his expression went wild.

“YOU!” He pointed his finger, his arm trembling as his eyes widened until the whites shown all the way around. A quick glance told Jaskier that the man was indicating him and not someone in his direction. He felt his stomach quiver.

“You are the Herald! The shepherd of magic's rise. You will guide the downward arc of the future and the fall of glass towers! The Time of Contempt has come,” the man raved, his voice nearly going hoarse in his fervor. He raised his hands to the sky, looking up as if in benediction. “The Time of the Sword and Axe is Nigh!”

Jaskier quickly got in the car and fumbled to get the keys in the ignition as his hands started to shake. He had no idea what he was talking about. He'd already felt a little paranoid this morning and the weight of the stranger's words settled on him heavily. Jaskier wanted to dismiss it as the ravings of a lone madman shouting at shadows, but it felt a little too real to him for some reason. He drove away quickly and did a couple laps around the city, trying to calm himself down as he let the radio play. He sang along with one of the only popular songs he enjoyed and felt his nerves finally calm. 

Once he felt settled again, he headed to the cafe he'd visited his first day here. Now that he was in familiar territory, it was easier to let the man's words fade until they were only a faint memory. He'd been back to the cafe almost every day and was slowly working his way through their menu. Their coffee was fantastic and the cute waitress, Lara, was working today. Jaskier had been debating on whether or not to call her, but he hadn't quite worked up the nerve yet. But he was leaving the city sometime soon and he doubted he'd be back. It was now or never at this point. 

Ard Carraigh was pretty, but that was about it. The local music scene leaned more towards synth and electronic sounds. Live acts were more likely to be DJ's and Mixers instead of people singing with instruments. And most places were just clubs masquerading as music venues. He wasn't interested in losing his hearing on a flashing dance floor while being jostled by throngs of inebriated people. Jaskier could appreciate all types of music, but he'd much rather spend his time listening to things that really sounded good to him. And candlelit taverns were much more his style. 

The cafe was moderately busy as he settled at a table in the corner. He winked at Lara who blushed where she was working behind the register. He'd brought his notebook instead of the laptop as well as a quill and inkwell. He supposed he could have gotten a fountain pen since the ink was exactly the same. But he didn't want to risk the possibility that it might disappear when he went into the Wood. Magic could be weird like that. Lara gave him a smile as she came over to take his order.

“That's a bit old fashioned,” she said teasingly. 

“I enjoy anachronistic things,” he said. “But not in a hipster way or anything,” he added hastily, realizing how he must appear. “I just like old things.” Including Witchers that are probably more than a century older then I am, his unhelpful inner monologue added. He hoped that she interpreted his wince as embarrassment instead of the effects of the gentle punch he'd just given to his own heart.

She smiled at him fondly. “I think that older things can be better in some ways. It's a shame that we've abandoned so much. Sometimes I think that the Wood is just world's way of resetting things back to the way they should be.”

Jaskier grinned, stunned at his luck in finding someone who seemed to understand. “When does your shift end?”

“Four.”

“I'll meet you back here at four then,” he said quietly, taking a chance.

Lara didn't answer as she handed him a menu. But as she leaned in to point something out on the laminated sheet, she whispered quietly. “Pick me up at the ice cream place down the street.” She looked at him from under her long lashes. “I'm not supposed to date customers.” 

“It'll be our secret then.” His impish grin earned him a coy giggle.

Her smiled widened as she took his lunch order and headed back into the kitchen. Jaskier watched her go and wondered what the hell he was doing. She was lovely and promised to be someone he could actually talk to. He had a feeling that she'd understand how he was feeling where a lot of other people wouldn't. And as a bonus, she didn't seem to mind his occasional awkwardness. He could easily give a piece of his heart to her, but he suddenly wondered if it even belonged to him anymore. When Geralt had left him here, he was pretty sure the Witcher had taken it with him. 

After lunch, he headed back to his apartment to work on some of the ideas he'd been having. When he wasn't prepping for the trip, he'd been writing poetry and lyrics while finding the right notes to accompany them. Geralt might think he was done with him, but Jaskier certainly wasn't done with the Witcher. He hummed a melody as he headed up the stairs, bypassing the elevator out of habit. He'd never like them. Heights were not his favorite places to be and enclosed spaces made him nervous. Once he'd closed and locked the door to his place, he tossed his notebook onto the table and went into the bedroom to drop off his clothes and get his lute. As Jaskier was reaching for the case, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. In the mirror over the dresser, he saw the closet door opening behind him. He turned just as he felt a sharp sting at his neck. 

Jaskier clapped his hand over the spot as he fell back onto the bed, his startled cry trailing off in a soft, unintelligible sound. Numbness was quickly spreading out from under his fingers as he fumbled for what had hit him. He pulled out a small object that looked like a tiny dart. His eyes widened as he saw Dell step out into the room holding a gun as his numbing hand dropped loosely to his side. Dell watched Jaskier calmly like he was waiting for something. Jaskier slumped back onto the bed with his legs hanging off the end as the room started to spin. His tongue felt like it was too big for his mouth and every attempt to speak came out in a guttural gurgle.

“I know you're probably asking why,” Dell said as he put the gun away and went briefly out into the main room. He came back with Jaskier's phone and laptop and closed the bedroom door behind him. “To be honest, I don't know and I don't care. All I know is somebody wants you dead and is willing to pay well for it.”

Jaskier let out another slurred sound as he tried to sit up. He flopped back onto the bed and let out a coughing gurgle. Dell came over after removing the batteries from his devices and shifted him up fully on the bed so he could roll him onto his side. 

“Don't want you to choke on your own vomit or swallow your tongue. That would be lame,” Dell said. He smiled when Jaskier huffed at him. “You should be glad I'm going to make your end spectacular. Or even poetic, if you well. It'll be much better than getting knifed in an alley by a couple of random amateurs.”

Jaskier's thoughts whirled. Those two who had jumped him outside the Kingfisher. They really had meant to kill him and somebody had hired them to do it.

“And now that your pet Witcher is out of the way, I finally have the opportunity to earn one of the best paydays of my career.” Dell started pulling off Jaskier's shoes and socks, drawing a distressed sound from him. “Relax. I'm not interested in that.” He tossed the shoes aside and moved up the bed to pull him into a sitting position. Jaskier's head lolled on his shoulder, like his muscles didn't know how to hold him up anymore. At least he could still blink. 

“I nearly lost you in that shit hole, don't remember the name. You know the one. Bunch of bigoted fucks,” Dell muttered. “Then I thought the damned Were would beat me to it and tear you to pieces.” He pulled off Jaskier's flannel shirt and worked the t-shirt up his torso so he could pull it over his head and down his arms. “You seem to be quite the monster magnet. I've never seen anyone trip over so many magical creatures before.” 

Jaskier was laid back down on the bed with his arms loosely laying at his sides and he flicked his eyes away as he felt the other man unhooking the button at his fly. Soon, his jeans and underwear were tugged down his legs, leaving him completely bare. While he wasn't shy, he'd never been undressed by a stranger that apparently intended to murder him. He rolled his eyes over to look at the other man as he went over to unwrap the paper package that contained his traveling clothes. Dell held up the silvery gray doublet with a raised brow. 

“Eh. This one's a bit too ostentatious. Not that it matters really.” He looked over at Jaskier who glared back at him. “But you should look your best at the end if you have the opportunity.” He pulled out the blue outfit. “This one suits you better. Still colorful but understated. Don't glare at me like that. You should be thanking me.”

Jaskier huffed a disbelieving breath through his nose, a soft growl in his throat. He wasn't just going to roll over and die. Not that he could move at the moment. But seeing Dell paw through his things bothered him.

“Really, I could just overdose you with something and leave you here. Or strangle you,” Dell said, coming back over to sit down next to Jaskier and put his hand lightly on his throat. Jaskier swallowed, knowing he couldn't do anything to stop him. He felt the other man's fingers slowly squeeze and gently cut off his air. A thin whine escaped him but he couldn't move. And then Dell's hand moved away and allowed him to breathe again. The other man gave him a strangely soft look. “I honestly don't know what happened in Yspaden. Magic is tricky and I avoid it when I can. There were portals and things were on fire. And then everybody was watching you like a fucking hawk. Really. You're just a paying passenger in the caravan. Why the fuck do they care so much? I mean, your family is rich, but it's not like you're royalty or anything.”

So he knew who he was. Jaskier shouldn't have been surprised, but he still felt a small burst of adrenaline. He huffed again as Dell started dressing him in the blue trousers and doublet. He wasn't sure why he was bothering to change his clothes.

“Everybody always has so many questions,” Dell murmured as he shimmied the fabric up over Jaskier's thighs. “If I have a choice, I like to make sure people are comfortable when they die. You seemed genuinely happy in the Wood. And I have a few rules. The first one is, nobody dies naked. That's just rude. Can't have your modern rags rotting off you before we get where we're going.”

So he was going to take him into the Wood somewhere to kill him. Maybe he'd have a chance to escape. 

“Second rule. I don't like to steal anyone's time. It would be easier to knock you out entirely, but that would be taking away what little time you have left. I'd rather let you experience your last hours. But I can't have you flopping around getting in my way and screaming for help while I get you ready.” 

Unbelievable. Jaskier was going to be killed by a polite murderer. He'd rather have drowned in the river with the Rusalka. At least she'd been straightforward about what she wanted. Once Dell had maneuvered him into his chemise and doublet, he lay him back down on the bed fully dressed. He tugged at the fabric to pull it into place before he was satisfied. The opal fell out of one of the inner pockets Elihal had sewed inside the doublet. Dell picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully.

“Oh yeah.” He grinned. “I've never seen anyone survive a Rusalka's attentions, let alone be rewarded for it. You must be something special. Pity,” he said as he tucked the stone back into Jaskier's pocket and pulled the tie closed. Gods, how long had Dell been following him? The last thing the other man did was slide Jaskier's boots onto his feet. “Ooo. They're like butter. I should stop into that dry cleaner on my way back,” he said absently. Putting his hands on his hips, he stood back as if admiring his handiwork. “Now. It's time to get going.”

Jaskier felt mildly better now that he was dressed, but he was still at the other man's mercy. And whatever he'd been given didn't seem to be wearing off any time soon. Dell came over with a thick strip of fabric and gently pried Jaskier's mouth open before gagging him tightly. The fabric settled between his teeth, muffling what little sound he was still capable of making. 

“Hmm. I normally don't have to do that, but you shouldn't be able to make any sound at all. You've been muttering non-stop since I got you.” Dell shrugged. “Don't make a fuss even if you can. I'm not being paid for the pretty waitress, but for amount of what I'm going to get, I'll be sure to make an exception.”

Jaskier huffed through his nose but didn't make a sound as he was rolled onto his side and his hands were pulled behind his back. Dell secured them with fibrous rope that immediately dug into his skin. His ankles were tied, leaving him completely helpless. Even if he was able to move his muscles, he wouldn't be able to get loose on his own. At least not easily. 

“I usually don't bother with restraints either. But honestly, given how this whole job has been going so far, I'm not taking any chances. But don't worry,” Dell said, patting his cheek lightly. “We're not going far.”

Jaskier wasn't sure what was going to happen next. There was no fire escape and all of the entrances had cameras. But then again, the front door had a card swipe lock and that hadn't done anything to keep him out. He was probably prepared. Dell wheeled a luggage cart out of the closet where he'd been hiding. A large iron bound wooden chest sat on it and Jaskier's heart would have started hammering if he hadn't been drugged. 

“Don't worry. It's specially designed with ventilation. You're not going to suffocate, but I hope you're not claustrophobic.”

Jaskier's breath heaved as the trunk was brought over and Dell rolled him carefully into it. Jaskier's body was folded and tucked inside. It was relatively comfortable, all things considered, but he knew his muscles would start cramping eventually. When the cover was closed and latched, Jaskier's world was reduced to a small, dark space. He could hear his huffing breaths inside the trunk. But true to Dell's word, he felt fresh air across his cheek from hidden vents near his face. He wasn't sure if he was serious about Lara but he couldn't risk it. That was the last coherent thought he had as the darkness closed in around him, making him whimper quietly and close his eyes.

The cart started moving and Jaskier tried to keep himself from panicking. He lost track of time in the dark, only rousing from his awareness briefly when his stomach jumped when they went down in the elevator and later, when the trunk was lifted onto something. With the way his prison started jostling, he'd have to say he'd been loaded onto a cart. The sound from outside was muffled too much to be sure. Jaskier groaned when he felt the shimmer of magic over his skin as they crossed the border. The relief of the tight itch subsiding was glorious, if extremely brief. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live in a Modern City again. He might have fallen unconscious for a while because the next thing he knew, the top of the trunk was flipped open. He blinked up at Dell who was looking down at him fondly. There was a sparkling amulet hanging from his neck in the shape of a twisted tree.

“Showtime,” the other man said as he lifted Jaskier up and slung his still limp body over his shoulder. He'd brought him into the dark patch of forest south of the city and the afternoon light was steadily getting dimmer as the sun set. Jaskier could feel that they were being watched, the same way he'd felt watched when he'd been traveling on the road with Geralt. There was a sense of menace and anticipation that seemed to be growing by the moment. Dell didn't seem to notice as he set him down at the base of a large tree with his legs stretched out in front of him. Dell started fussing with some long coils of rope that he'd brought with him. Jaskier started humming under his breath, trying to calm himself. Nobody would be coming for him. He was going to die out here in the Wood and nobody would even know. He wouldn't even become a statistic. 

He felt a prickling tingle in his toes as feeling started to return to his body. Jaskier leaned his head back against the tree as he bit at the fabric in his mouth. He stiffened as he saw low shapes moving in the shadows at the edge of the small clearing. Dell was busy tossing lengths of rope up over the high limbs and didn't seem to notice. The hairs on the back of Jaskier's neck started to rise as he felt something coming. Something old. And angry. A low growl sounded and Jaskier drew his knees up to his chest. That's what finally drew the other man's attention. 

“You shouldn't be able to move for a couple hours yet. Interesting. This is why I take precautions.” Dell turned when he heard a branch crack. He reached up to grip the amulet, his eyes scanning the trees. “It shouldn't be here yet,” he murmured. “It shouldn't even know we're here. I paid good money for this enchantment.” 

A flock of crows burst suddenly out of the bushes and drove Dell back away from Jaskier. The other man brought his arms up to protect his face as talons and beaks tore at his sleeves and drew blood. The shapes in the bushes moved into the light as several wolves and two Wargs crept forward with their teeth bared. They growled at Dell, making him cringe back. He drew a knife and held it up warily, but his eyes widened as a deep, creaking sound resounded through the forest. As it moved in their direction and started to get louder, he turned tail and ran, leaving Jaskier behind. The wolves gave chase with a howl that made that hair on the back Jaskier's neck rise. Moments later, a scream echoed through the trees, making him shiver. It cut off abruptly and it was quiet again. 

Between the trees in front of Jaskier, a tall shape emerged. It shifted to maneuver its antlers between the branches as it came closer. Instead of a face, it had a large deer skull perched at the apex of a humanoid form that looked like it had been made of branches and moss. It was large and imposing, it's movements regal and dignified like some sort of forest god. Jaskier could feel the power rolling off it in waves, touching every living thing in the forest. This was probably the reason this patch of forest still stood. A long talon reached forward toward him and Jaskier held himself carefully still as a frightened whimper escaped him. But instead of slitting his throat or shredding his flesh, it carefully slid down his cheek and sliced the fabric of the gag. Jaskier spat it out and it fell away, allowing him to take a shuddering breath through his mouth. 

“Well,” he breathed softly. “Thank you.” This was not how he'd expected things to go.


	17. Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author tangent (Feel free to skip to the story as I ramble a bit about relatively unrelated things.)
> 
> For every chapter of this story I've posted, I've written a chapter for the sequel. I kept up the pace for a long time which surprised me. My hope is that there won't be much of a gap between the last chapter of this story and posting the first chapter of the next one. It's completely plotted out. I just need to sit down and write it. It's been a wonderful coping mechanism.
> 
> I usually hyperfocus on one fandom and I don't have much experience juggling more than one at a time. I've been living in the Witcher world in my head since December. But Connor, the andriod sent by CyberLife, has invaded my brain and he won't leave. So I've spent the last week writing a new story that has absolutely nothing to do with this one. It's wonderful and frustrating at the same time. (I've never actually played Detroit: Become Human, but I've seen several playthrough videos and I love it. I haven't thought about it in more than a year, and now suddenly it's here again.) 
> 
> End of ramble. Thanks for listening. These are the thoughts that have been on my brain lately.

Jaskier felt something moving over his hands where they were tied behind him as he stared up at the forest being that was kneeling down over him. He wasn't sure what to call it, though it probably had a proper name. He'd have to ask Geralt if he ever saw him again. The ropes unraveled but something else replaced them, holding him softly for a moment before finally releasing him. He raised his hands in front of him to see soft leaves secured with vines wrapped around his wrists where the ropes had rubbed his skin raw. They smelled of herbs and a cool sensation spread over his skin. He jumped as a wet tongue licked up his cheek. One of the wolves had returned and it was butting it's head against his shoulder. It crouched at his side for a moment, looking like a large puppy. Jaskier reached out a tentative hand and scratched behind its ears. It made a happy canine sound before bounding away back into the woods. 

Jaskier saw the small horse drawn cart a few feet away with the open chest sitting on it. He licked his lips and stared at it sullenly. He watched as vines unhooked the horse from the traces and removed its tack and saddle, allowing it to move forward toward a green patch of grass. Jaskier jumped as roots thrust up out of the ground, skewering the cart and the chest violently. They coiled around the wood, making it creak and buckle before drawing the broken pieces down into the earth. The ropes quickly followed, slithering down beneath the dirt out of sight. The horse continued grazing unconcerned. When everything was quiet again, there was no sign of any man made materials. 

The living tree cut the ropes at Jaskier's ankles and he carefully stretched his legs. The whole forest around him seemed suddenly alive, more so than greenery typically was, almost like it was sentient. Leaves rustled and branches shifted without a breeze, all seemingly heeding the the will of the being that crouched in front of Jaskier. But instead of fear, he felt a sense of calm come over him. Something nudged his elbow and he saw his lute case settle down at his side. The vines that had brought it over retreated respectfully as he opened the case and pulled out the instrument. Dell had probably brought it with them in another strange act of supposed kindness. Jaskier had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He'd almost died today. 

Why was it that he seemed to be in more danger from humans than from monsters? The forest being tilted its head as if waiting for something. Jaskier settled and strummed the lute, gauging the flexibility of his fingers. Whatever he'd been given seemed to have worn off completely now, and being surrounded by the forest's magic made him feel better. Jaskier remembered the feeling of being watched the when he'd first seen the forest from the road. Had he drawn its attention back then? 

He started to play and let the music weave itself as it would as the notes sang out into the trees. Jaskier started singing of shadows and power. Ancient beings and the passage of time that eroded the edges of the world. But the power remained, staid and strong as it defeated all that sought to conquer it. Jaskier felt that the being was pleased and a soft smiled pulled at his lips. When he finally set the lute down in his lap, he found that he was surrounded by furry lupine bodies that were curled up in the moss around him. It was by far, the strangest audience he'd ever played for, and quite possibly, the most attentive. 

Darkness had fallen beneath the trees with just the barest blush of sunset peaking through the branches. It was getting harder for Jaskier to see and he wished he'd bought that enchanted glowing amulet he'd seen at the shop the other day. It was also getting cold and he saw his breath start to fog in the last vestiges of light as a shiver shook him. One of the wolves wiggled closer to him and he felt the heat of its body seep into his leg. This was not normal. Wolves did not behave like this even if they had been socialized with people.

Jaskier had long since come to the conclusion that there were things about himself that he didn't understand yet. He wasn't like other people, he'd always known that. And it wasn't the internal loneliness of feeling like there wasn't anyone else quiet like him. He felt both physically and mentally different from all of the people in his life, with the exception of his mother. He'd never been able to put his finger on why that was. And he still couldn't. But if he was going to find answers, it was going to be in the Wood. And it definitely wasn't as safe in the Modern Cities as everyone assumed. While it sounded like Dell had followed him all the way from Lettenhove, the muggers had been in the city. And now that he'd accessed his account, he felt like he'd pout a giant target on his back. He'd probably be relatively safer in the Wood.

Magic was by far the more dangerous unknown in this situation, but Yennefer hadn't seemed interested in killing him. She'd wanted something. Jaskier slumped down against the tree, trying to find a comfortable position. It seemed to shift beneath him, subtly cradling his body between the roots. Sleep pulled at him as he relaxed into the strangely soft, mossy ground. To be honest, he was exhausted. He closed his eyes and felt the weight of another wolf pressing into his other side. Jaskier fell asleep to the rustling hush of leaves and the soft rumble of canine snores. 

*******

The next morning, Jaskier wandered around the woods, trying to find his way back to the city. As much as he wanted to get back on the road, he needed his gear. He wouldn't last long if he didn't have the tools for basic survival. And money. When he woke, the wolves were gone and his doublet and trousers were completely covered in dog hair. Jaskier huffed and resolved to get a lint brush to add to his things. The horse had wandered off and there was no sign of the forest god. He fingered the twisted piece of wood he'd found hanging from a leather cord around his neck when he woke. It was a round, knotted shape about an inch and a half across. And it was strangely warm to the touch. He was starting to put together quite the collection of tokens on his travels.

Jaskier found some berry bushes and a clean, burbling spring to drink from and wash his face. It tided him over, but he'd need to eat something substantial before heading back out on the road again. And he'd need to leave soon. He wasn't convinced that the city was safer than the Wood. But no matter how far he walked, he didn't seem to be able to find his way out of the forest. It couldn't be that large. Using the sun to help guide him didn't seem to be doing anything. He wondered idly if he'd be stuck in here, wandering in circles forever. As kind as the forest had been, Jaskier wasn't sure about spending another night under the trees. Pulling out his lute, he started to play to pass the time. Music had been the greatest gift of this whole adventure. As he plucked the strings, he kept walking, his steps more sure than they had been in hours. He stopped when he boots started crunching on the dry grasses at the edge of a wide field. Ard Carraigh rose up in the distance, glittering on the mountain. 

When he got back to the city, he entered through the south gate and took a few moments for his body to adjust. Now that he knew what to expect, it wasn't quite so bad. It was still unpleasant, but it was manageable. When he could breathe easily again, he headed to his apartment. He got a few strange looks from people who muttered about Ancients not knowing how to blend in, but he ignored him. His apartment appeared untouched aside from what Dell had disturbed when he'd broken in and drugged him. He ate two of the sandwiches from the fridge with an apple and finished off the last of the milk. Quickly packing, Jaskier made sure to bring only his traveling gear. He put the batteries back in the phone and laptop before wiping them and knocking the operating systems back to factory settings. He didn't dare contact Essi again. He'd leave all his modern things behind. Whoever rented this place could have them or sell them. Jaskier didn't care. 

There was a knock on his door that made him pause. Surely an assassin wouldn't announce themselves. But who would be here looking for him? A second knock came, the urgency not changing. If he waited long enough, would they go away? The handle jiggled and Jaskier looked around suddenly for a place to hide and then chastised himself for being stupid. Where was he going to go? There were three rooms and only one exit. He suddenly wished he'd put a little more thought into his choice of apartments. Obviously the outer door lock wasn't keeping people out. Then he heard the telltale click of someone picking the lock. There wasn't any time to duck into the bedroom, so Jaskier drew himself up and put on his haughtiest look. When the door opened, someone with short, dark hair stepped carefully inside and closed the door, looking out into the hallway one last time before closing and re-locking the door behind them.

“Can I help you?” Jaskier drawled, trying to sound bored and slightly annoyed instead of scared. The intruder froze and turned to look at him. He was dressed in dark, skinny jeans and a button down shirt in a truly atrocious shade of green. His square toed shoes were made of purple suede. He had a seedy little mustache that he probably thought made him look refined, but looked more like a dark smudge above his upper lip. It was a style that had started to become popular when Jaskier was still in Lettenhove, but he didn't care for it himself. 

The man blinked and looked around the room in an exaggerated fashion. “This isn't my apartment,” he said, in a laughably bad attempt at sounding innocent.

“I would have thought that was readily apparent due to the fact you just picked the lock to get in here,” Jaskier said dryly. He kept his eye on him as he resumed packing his bag while trying to look unconcerned.

'Yes, well. I just. . .”

“You just broke into my place. I can assure you that there's nothing worth taking.” Jaskier remembered his modern gear. “You can have the phone and laptop if you need money that badly.” He eyed the other man's clothes which looked like knockoffs of expensive brands. The intruder bristled.

“I don't need your pity or your money.”

“You were after something,” Jaskier said, as he started to lose his patience. He put his hand on his hip and glared at him. He'd started out with fake bravado, but he was slowly gaining confidence. There was nothing inherently menacing about the other man and Jaskier doubted that he was going to attack him. He certainly wasn't hiding a weapon in his tight pants. “If you're not here to steal anything, get out.” 

The other man game him a prim look. “There's no need to be rude.”

“Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”

“I'll be honest,” the man said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Somehow I doubt you're capable of that,” Jaskier said sourly.

“My name is Valdo Marx and I was looking for the person who was singing the other night.”

“And you thought you'd find them by breaking into my apartment?” Jaskier recognized the man's name and felt his lip curl. Out of every person who had access to the internet, he had to run into one of the assholes that had constantly harassed him online. He'd left numerous condescending comments on his music posts, and down-voted everything he uploaded. Jaskier wasn't about to introduce himself. 

“I'm staying upstairs and I came down last night but nobody was home.” Valdo still tried to maintain his innocence, but he wasn't doing a very good job.

“So you thought you'd commit a felony by coming in when I wasn't here?”

“You keep trying to make the same point over and over.”

“Because you seem to misunderstand how much it pisses me off!” Jaskier waved him away. “Seriously, just get out before I call the city guard.” He shouldered his pack and ducked into the bedroom to get his lute. Settling the strap over his shoulder, he shifted it until it was comfortable and headed back out towards the door to the hallway. He'd shoved the asshole out of the way if he had to. 

“It was you.” Valdo's brows rose as his eyes landed on the instrument. “You're the musician. You must let me buy you a drink. I've never heard your equal. I. . .” He stopped his fawning praise as Jaskier brushed past him and headed out into the hallway. The man was full of shit and Jaskier didn't bother closing the door behind him. 

“Where are you going?” Valdo sounded truly baffled. 

Jaskier didn't bother answering as he headed for the stairs. He didn't have the patience or the time to deal with manipulative assholes. He'd seen enough people like him at company functions as people tried to gain his father's favor. They made his stomach turn every time. And judging by how the man had so little respect for his property, his intentions had definitely been less than pure. Jaskier was glad he'd been home when he broke in. There was no telling what he might have taken if he hadn't been here. His hand tightened on the lute strap. Low quality or no, he wasn't letting anyone touch his instrument. He silently thanked Dell for stealing it when he'd kidnapped him.

Footsteps behind him made him close his eyes and pray for patience. He wished the horse had stuck around so he could have ridden away faster.

“Are you seriously going into the Wood? Why would you waste such talent by singing for peasants?”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier told him without turning around. The _peasants_ , as he called them, had treated him far better than his betters had. Some of the kindest, most generous people he'd encountered on his journey had been the ones who'd had the least to spare.

“I can get you a recording contract. I know people,” Valdo said as he scurried to catch up to him, nearly tumbling down the stairs in his haste. “We can go in, fifty-fifty.”

Jaskier rounded on him, making the other man stumble back a step and he felt a small spurt of petty satisfaction. He'd encountered Rusalkas, Werecats, and Forest Gods on his journey. Jaskier wasn't about to let some simpering, two-faced moron think he could manipulate or tempt him. If he wasn't going to accept a recording deal from his best friend, he certainly wasn't going to take one from this idiot. 

“Leave me alone.”

“You have such a talent and you could profit from it greatly.” Valdo scoffed. “How could you pass up an opportunity to taste what the Modern world has to offer?”

“I thought you said all my taste was in my mouth. That I wouldn't know true poetry if it bit me on the ass,” Jaskier said, unable to keep his resentment from bubbling up. He moved up a couple steps so he could look Valdo in the eye. Dozens of comments had led to many sleepless nights where he'd wallowed in self pity wondering what he was doing wrong. He'd allowed himself to take the petty feedback seriously and he'd let it hurt him. But he was done with that. “What's that delightfully mundane description you're so fond of overusing? Oh, yes. Talentless Hack.”

Valdo paled and then frowned. “No. It can't be.” His look shifted to one of disbelief. “You can't possibly be that pathetic little rich boy that was playing at being a musician. That's not the voice I heard the other day.”

He wasn't entirely wrong. Julian Pankratz had been weak. But Jaskier the Bard was made of sterner stuff, and he had nothing to prove. He'd survived too much to let Valdo bother him now. Turning on his heel and holding his head high, he walked down the stairs and out the door into the lobby, refusing to look back. He left the other man sputtering behind him. 

When he crossed the border and the magic washed over Jaskier's skin, he felt himself relax and breathed out a long, satisfied sigh. He doubted he'd cross back into a Modern city again willingly anytime soon. This was where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, transition chapters. How I hate writing you. 
> 
> The last chapter and this one were the most difficult to write in the whole story. I knew where Jaskier needed to go, but other things needed to happen first. When I started writing this chapter, I had no idea who was knocking on the door. I stared at the page for two days trying to figure out what character to add. I wasn't completely happy with it when I finished this part, but reading it again today, I like it better. Jaskier needed to find something in himself to move on. He'd been escorted this entire way and now he's on his own. (For now.)


	18. Reunited and it Feels so Awkward

Jaskier stood at the crossroads staring at the signpost trying to decide where to go. He didn't have a map even though he should probably invest in one in the future. No maps generated by online mapping programs were usable in the Wood and most maps made in the Wood went blank as soon as they crossed the border. But he'd memorized this part of the Continent that last time he'd seen one. Should he go west to Gelibol? He doubted he'd be able to catch up to the caravan. And they probably wouldn't be happy to see him given how they'd parted ways. The memory still hurt, but Jaskier hoped he would cross paths with them again eventually.

Gelibol boasted one of the largest libraries in the north outside of Oxenfurt. He could just imagine rooms lined with shelves containing ancient tomes that held untold amounts of knowledge. Perhaps later he'd stop by when he needed a break from the road. Jaskier yearned to travel, his entire body thrumming with the anticipation of wandering the Continent and seeing everything he possibly could. He wasn't interested in spending a lot of time in one place just yet.

The eastern road headed toward Ban Ard. He definitely wasn't interested in going there. Part of him wondered if the magic school could help him develop and understand his own magic. If that's what it was. He still wasn't entirely convinced. But the other part of him warned caution. He'd already been abducted once using magic and the sorceress had been far too interested in him. Jaskier shuddered, remembering how she had tried to dig into his head. He didn't know what she'd been looking for, but he wanted to avoid being in that position again. He wasn't sure if all mages could do that, but he didn't want to find out the hard way.

That left Ban Glean to the south. From there, he could move west into Temeria and then work his way towards the coast. He didn't want to spend the winter in the mountains. A slightly warmer climate by the sea sounded far more appealing. Or maybe he'd go to Oxenfurt after all. It would be nice to spend time with other people who studied the arts. It had been a long time since he'd been around other musicians. While he was a solitary performer by trade, being around other artists was stimulating and always felt more enriching than being in an artistic vacuum. 

*******

As Jaskier traveled, he started to really understand what it meant to be a starving artist. He must have gotten lucky on the road to Barefield and Yspaden. The small villages along the way to Ban Glean were somewhat less than welcoming, and on the last two occasions, Jaskier's only meal had been what had been thrown at him. He'd retreated from a the last tavern with bread stuffed down his pants as two shifty looking men glared at him and threatened to hunt him down if he didn't move on. Earning enough to buy supplies was a bit of a challenge and he didn't have much to trade except for his music. He wasn't a hunter and the idea of cleaning game made his stomach turn.

If it hadn't been for the young herbalist he'd run across in the forest, he might have had a serious problem. Balen was traveling to Vengerberg to study medicine and he'd been searching for herbs to sell along the way when Jaskier literally tripped over him. He'd shown Jaskier how to find edible roots and berries, which plants were useful for easing digestion or aiding sleep, and the most common things that were toxic and harmful. Jaskier had studied some of the basics before heading out from Lettenhove, but the new knowledge was welcome and helped him ease the steadily growing hunger pangs. Balen was kind and patient, and was easy on the eyes. His flaxen hair fell roguishly over his brow and his dark eyes were warm. He also had an incredibly talented tongue. When Jaskier wasn't singing with the lute, he was singing for other reasons. 

When they reached Ban Glean, they pooled their resources to rent a room together, and there had been just enough left for a hot bath. As Jaskier's hands skimmed over Balen's soap slicked skin, he could almost forget the soft ache that had settled in his heart in Ard Carraigh. It was nice to travel with a companion and Balen offered a distraction so that he wasn't wallowing in his own thoughts. Later that night as they lay in bed, Balen rolled towards him and draped himself along Jaskier's side. 

“Come to Vengerberg with me,” he said, pressing his lips to Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier had already been thinking about it, but he wasn't sure. Balen hadn't asked for more than he'd been willing to give, and Jaskier hadn't settled on a destination yet. But something kept him from saying yes immediately.

“Hmm. I don't know.” Jaskier ran a hand idly up and down the other man's back. “I'm still trying to figure out where I'm meant to be.”

“It's just a thought,” Balen said wistfully. “Just know that my door will always be open.”

Later that week when they stood at a crossroads half way towards their destination, Jaskier looked at the sign before them, feeling an odd tug that he didn't quite understand. Heading further south would take them to Vengerberg and Guleta. But it was the eastern road that caught his eye. Dol Blathanna. Where had he heard that name before? It tickled the edge of his memory in a way that made his fingers itch for his lute. The Valley of Flowers. Pretty. 

“Is something wrong?” Balen asked him. 

“No. Just. . .thinking,” Jaskier said, pulling himself from his thoughts. “Have you ever been to Posada before?”

“Can't say that I have. This is the furthest south I've ever been. Spent most of my life outside of Gelibol.” Balen looked up at the sign. “It's said that Dol Blathanna was given to the humans by the Elves before they retreated to their golden palaces in the mountains.” 

“Awfully generous of them,” Jaskier said, not knowing why he doubted that was true. Given how humans treated Elves, he didn't quite believe it was that simple.

“They're Elves. Nobody really understands them.” Balen shrugged. “They're better off staying in the forests where they belong. The world belongs to humans now.” His tone was calm and untroubled, the casual dismissal of another race absolute, like he couldn't comprehend it any other way. He probably didn't even know how brutal it sounded. Jaskier thought of Elihal and his delicate hands, and the way he sewed fabric with deft movements. He remembered the crinkle of his nose when he laughed and the warm expression on his face when he enjoyed the simple company of another. He couldn't imagine hating an entire race just for being different. 

Jaskier looked at Balen's face. His expression was soft and open, looking guileless in a way that told him it wasn't really active hate. It was just what he believed. Jaskier suddenly felt a strange detachment fall over him. It was the quickest that he'd ever fallen out of love with anyone, though he he knew exactly why it was happening this time. He was relieved to see that Balen hadn't noticed the growing tension in his shoulders and he forced himself to relax as he kept his own expression mild. He didn't want to end their travels on a bad note and he doubted that he'd be able to change Balen's mind. It was a pity that he'd never take him up on his offer. 

“I believe I'll be heading eastward from here.”

“Oh, well.” Balen leaned forward and kissed him one more time. Jaskier returned it softly before pulling back. 

“Safe travels.” He turned, shouldering his pack and heading down the road towards Posada. He could feel Balen's eyes on him for a short time before the other man turned south and started walking. It had been nice traveling with another person again, but it was probably better that they separated now. Jaskier doubted that he would have been able to keep his thoughts to himself or his mouth shut if they continued along together. 

*******

Several days later, Jaskier understood why it was called the Valley of Flowers. Swaths of blooms surrounded by green spread out before him. Mountains rose up in the distance on either side, bracketing the verdant valley in steep peaks. He'd been drawn away from the main road to a patch of wildflowers and he settled in the thick grass. The hot scent of fading summer greenery surrounded him. Autumn was on the wind. The evenings were already becoming cooler, but this place was still so full of life. He took a drink from his canteen. Why would the Elves abandon all of this? It was far too beautiful to give away. He spent the night surrounded by flowers, looking up at the stars. 

The next day, he traveled further along the valley and saw what must be Posada rising up in front of him. Large rock formations rose up out of the valley floor with wooden structures clinging to the sides. Wooden walkways coiled up and around to allow access to each building. The tavern and inn stood on the largest spire in the center with a swaying plank bridge stretching from the ledge of the road to the building. Jaskier shuddered and tried not to look down as he crossed cautiously one step at a time. Every sway of the bridge made him gasp as his shoulders rose higher and higher, his whole body hunching with tension. An old man sitting on the porch by the door laughed at him and muttered about pretty city folk not knowing how to manage in the wilds. Jaskier ignored him.

The interior of the tavern was dim and the mood pensive. Jaskier was getting better at reading the atmosphere of a room and knew that he probably wouldn't receive a warm welcome here. He still had enough coin left from his time in Ban Glean to rent a room for the night, but all thoughts of food and sleep left him suddenly as he spotted someone sitting in the back corner. The gloom nearly hid him from sight, but the man's white hair shone in the thin candlelight as he stared glumly into his mug. Jaskier grabbed a cup from a passing server and casually sauntered over.

“I love how you just sit in the corner and brood,” Jaskier said, taking a sip of some truly hideous wine. Geralt glared at him. Jaskier had never been so happy to see his grumpy face. He grinned and sat down across from him, setting his pack and lute down on the floor.

“I'm here to drink alone,” Geralt said, trying to sound bored. But there was a flash of something in his golden eyes. Jaskier wasn't sure if it was worry, anger, or desire. Maybe it was all three.

“Of course. You don't need anyone. We've long since established that,” Jaskier said dryly. 

“Following me is unwise.”

“I didn't. Follow you, that is.” Jaskier laughed and sat back in his chair, leaving the cup on the table. “Honestly, I didn't know you were here until I came in the door. I didn't even know where I was going really.” He shrugged and spread his hands. “I just started walking. And here we are.”

“It's dangerous.”

“Geralt, everywhere is dangerous.”

Geralt got up and dumped out a few coins from his nearly empty pouch before tucking the leather into his pocket. Picking up his sword case, he headed toward the door without another word. Jaskier grabbed his things and tripped as the straps of his pack got tangled around the table leg. Geralt was nearly to the door by the time he was able to get to his feet and scramble after him. 

“Honestly, Geralt,” he said, trying not to sound desperate. “There's nowhere safer than at a Witcher's side, as far as I'm concerned.” He leaned against a post, bracing his hand against it as the other man stopped and turned to glare again. “Where else am I going to go?”

Geralt started at him for a moment but said nothing as he turned back to the door and started to leave. Jaskier clenched his jaw but paused as he saw one of the men at a table by the door get up and follow Geralt into the entry hall. 

“You're a Witcher,” the man said. Geralt looked like he was going to ignore him and Jaskier scurried over to intervene.

“Yes, my good man,” Jaskier said with a flourish. “He is Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf and Witcher for hire, at your service.”

Geralt bared his teeth, making the man cringe slightly. But even though he was obviously afraid, he held his ground. 

“I beg your pardon, but I've a job for you,” the man said. “There's a devil, been stealing our grain.” He held out a coin purse. “One hundred ducats up front if you can rid us of the beast.”

Jaskier stared at the pouch longingly for a moment, thinking of a bath and hot food for the first time in days. He'd need to figure out what to do about his finances. But as much as he was willing to promote Geralt's skills and improve his reputation, he couldn't accept the job for him. Geralt looked at Jaskier before closing his eyes for a moment, blowing out a breath slowly like he was trying to calm himself. Then he took the pouch and emptied out half of the contents before handing the rest back. 

“Half now, half later. I'll return here when it's done.”

“My thanks to you, Master Witcher,” the man said with a small bow. “There's a barn in a small clearing east of here where we keep our stores. If it strikes anywhere, it will be there.”

Geralt turned and left without another word. Jaskier trailed after him and didn't even think twice before jogging across the plank bridge to catch up to him. Geralt retrieved Roach from a secluded nook in the rocks. She whickered softly in greeting and came over to butt her head against Jaskier's chest.

“Hello, my Lady,” he said with a smile as he scratched between her ears. “It's lovely to see you again.” He saw Geralt roll his eyes before mounting and moving off towards the east. Jaskier fell into step beside him easily. It was obvious that the other man was irritated, but he hadn't actually told him to go away. And goodness knows, he wasn't above casting a spell or physically assaulting Jaskier to make him stay behind. But so far, he hadn't touched him yet. Part of the bard really wanted him to. “So. A devil. What kind of creature is that?”

“A fictional one,” Geralt rumbled.

“Dragons are real, but devils are just a myth?” 

“If it's anything, it probably a Hirrica or Mamune. Or a human,” he added. “Most monsters turn out to be of the two legged variety.”

“And what are the other two? I've never heard of them,” Jaskier said as he settled his pack and lute more comfortably. 

“Nuisances mostly. If it's one of those, it's because they're starving. But it's highly unlikely since the land here is so fertile. There's no need to encroach on human villages for food.” Geralt fell silent again as they headed further east. It felt uncomfortable for some reason and while Jaskier had never had trouble filling in the quiet before, he felt somewhat hesitant to speak..

“So. What have you been up to since I last saw you?” Jaskier asked, trying to sound casual. It came out more awkward than anything.

“Hunting. Which is done quietly.” Geralt glared down at him from the saddle before turning back to the road. 

Jaskier opened his mouth to reply before closing it again. He'd never actually been on a real hunt with the other man before and didn't really know what to do with himself. But he kept his attention on their surroundings, trying to commit everything to memory. Jaskier intended to start writing ballads proclaiming to the world how amazing his Witcher was. And he'd need details for that. 

Soon, Geralt pulled Roach over to the side of the road and looped the reigns over the pommel of the saddle. As he moved off, Jaskier set his pack with the saddlebags, patting Roach's neck in apology before shouldering his lute and following. Geralt continued down the road on foot towards the barn that probably served as a storehouse for all the nearby farms. Jaskier could hear him inhaling slowly like he was scenting the air and wondered if he had an enhanced sense of smell. All Jaskier could detect when he sniffed was greenery, flowers, and the dusty chaff of cut hay. 

Geralt circled the building but didn't go inside. He paused occasionally, crouching low to get a look at the ground, perhaps for tracks. Moving off into the sparse trees and rocky outcrops, he slipped out of sight. Jaskier hurried to catch up, but lost track of him in the high grasses that were growing between the trees and rocks. He kept moving for several minutes before pausing for a moment to try and get his bearings. But didn't hear anything. That should have been impossible. There should be the crunch of grass or twigs. Something. Geralt was a full grown man that probably weighed more than a dozen stone. His passage though the grass should have made some sort of noise. 

“Geralt?” he called, suddenly feeling uneasy. It was too quiet which usually meant trouble. He didn't regret following the other man, but didn't want to get caught by surprise. He sang under his breath for a moment to get his rapidly increasing heartbeat under control. Pulling the lute case off his shoulder, he squeezed it tightly in his hands. Playing would be stupid if there really was something out here, but it made him feel better to hold onto it. There was a cry and a crash to his left followed by the loud thump of something hitting the ground. Jaskier heard the growl of Geralt's voice and was about to move in his direction when he felt movement behind him. Jaskier glanced behind him, but he didn't see anything. But when he turned back toward where the sound had come from, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth from behind. His captor's other arm curled around his waist, holding him tightly. Jaskier gripped at the hand keeping him quiet, grunting as he struggled in their grip. 

“Don't even think about casting another spell,” a female voice hissed as she shook him sharply and held him tightly against her. “Keep quiet, or I will cut out that magical tongue of yours.” 

She dragged him through the tall grass, and he stumbled along, his feet barely touching the ground. They came to a small clearing where Geralt was pinning a strange looking creature to the ground. It had curved horns and cloven feet, like some sort of goat man. Geralt's head whipped around and his face went dangerously blank when he saw them. He stood slowly, holding out his empty hands. Jaskier twisted in the woman's grip, mumbling an apology behind her hand. She just gripped him tighter and hissed at him again, making him grunt in pain. He tried to call out a warning as an an Elven man appeared out of a clump of tall grasses behind Geralt, but he wasn't fast enough and the Witcher was struck hard from behind. Geralt's eyes rolled up and he slumped to the ground. Jaskier screamed and struggled harder as the Elven man frowned at him. 

“What the hell is this?”

“He was trying to cast a spell,” the woman said, her voice thick with disdain. “We should just slit his throat now.” 

Jaskier whimpered softly, holding himself carefully still.

“Toruviel! No one was supposed to get hurt.” The goat man had regained his feet and he stepped over Geralt's prone form to come closer. “Filavandrel won't want his blood on your hands,” he finished softly. His rectangular pupils looked at her imploringly. There was a heavy sigh from the woman who held him. 

“Fine.” 

The Elven man moved forward, pulling a cloth from a pouch at his waist. Jaskier tried to pull back, but the woman held him firmly as she released his face so the cloth could be pressed firmly over his nose and mouth. The woman's arm tightened suddenly around his waist, expelling the breath from his lungs. Jaskier was forced to breathing in a thick floral scent from the cloth. It instantly made him dizzy and he hummed in distress, unable to speak or pull away. His fingers curled around the Elven man's wrist loosely for a moment as the lute was yanked away. But soon his arms dropped to his sides as he felt his body go lax and everything faded away entirely.


	19. The Edge of the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, story time and random rambles. (If spiders give you the heebies, you might want to skip down to the actual chapter.) I have a fair amount of anxiety that's being treated with medication. I'm good most days and it's a hell of a lot better than it used to be. (Obviously, current events are not helping at all.) I'm okay for the most part, but I don't have a lot of emotional room for anything extra right now. 
> 
> So Tuesday morning, when I found a huge damn spider behind the shampoo bottle in my shower, all hell broke loose in my bathroom. (I pulled a bunch of muscles in my leg when I literally jumped out of the shower onto the tiles and slipped.) I did battle with a flyswatter and took care of it while hyperventilating and feeling like my heart was going to punch its way out of my chest. (All of this while naked and dripping from the shower.) I disposed of the battered corpse and felt victory. And then I stepped out into the hallway and saw the second huge damn spider on the wall guarding the door to my room. 
> 
> To provide some context, I live in an area where insects can get rather large. And when it's been dry for a while outside, the first rain will send a lot of things indoors. The ants came first and the spiders followed the food. Neither of these leggy bastards were dangerous. They were common and harmless, just creepy as hell. And I'm not exaggerating about them being huge. They were both as big as my hand.
> 
> The flyswatter I was holding would bring me too close to the second spider which was currently at eye level. (I can never look at them directly. It freaks me out too much.) I assumed it was going to jump on my face and start dancing around. (It probably wouldn't have and even if it did, it would be more scared than me. Like I said. Creepy but harmless.) I really wanted a pair of shoes just in case it ran at me across the floor and I needed to stomp it down with righteous fury. But it was guarding the door to where all of my shoes were.
> 
> So I went to get the broom and I couldn't find it when I got back. After a small panic attack, I saw it trying to sneak closer along the top of the wall by the ceiling. I let out a battle cry and attacked, breaking the broom. Then I started yelling and swearing at it, demanding that it die immediately because I'd missed and it was still moving. And that's how my mom found me when she came out to see what was going on. Naked and screaming while stabbing the floor with the broken broom handle. Of course, as the adrenaline crashed, I immediately burst into tears. (And I mean ugly, heaving, sob laden crying. Haven't cried like that for years.) 
> 
> We sat and talked so I could calm down. I had to get her to dispose of the second corpse, as I was too scared to do it. I even needed her to get my clothes and shoes because I was too afraid to go down the hallway. I got dressed right there in front of the picture window in the living room. (Good morning neighbors.) I was so stressed out and wasted, I had to call in sick to work. (And felt stupid doing so, but I knew I needed to take care of my mental health. I was not in good shape at that point.)
> 
> I'm laughing at this whole thing now. I was laughing a little that day, because even then I knew it was ridiculous. It took me two days to be brave enough to shower in my bathroom again and I'm still jumpy in the hallway. So suffice it to say, it's been a rough week. The dump of adrenaline and chemicals has thrown me off balance and I haven't written anything for days. I think I'm mostly back to my current normal now. (Hooray for better living through chemistry.) But it's been a struggle to get there.
> 
> I've been telling this story all week to coworkers who have all been horrified, amused, or both. I've certainly been living in interesting times. Now I get to sit around waiting for a hurricane this weekend. (Eh, I don't even get out of bed unless it's a Cat 3 these days. We should be fine.)

Jaskier struggled to regain consciousness through a thick fog. His head felt heavy and he moaned softly. Raising his head, he saw Geralt laying in front of him with his hands bound behind him. Thick ropes were wrapped around the Witcher's chest, knees, and ankles. But he was breathing steadily. Jaskier grunted as he shifted uncomfortably. He was on his knees and his arms were pulled behind him with his hands tightly wrapped to keep his fingers curled into fists. The hard line of a wooden post dug into his back where the ropes wrapped around his chest held him against it. And he was thoroughly gagged with a wad of fabric in his mouth and a larger strip covering the lower part of his face from nose to chin. Jaskier breathed heavily through his nose as he tried to shift to relieve the pain in his aching knees.

The cave they were in was featureless rock with light coming in through holes in the roof that were choked with trailing roots and vines. Geralt stirred before jerking awake suddenly with a gasp. He struggled briefly in his bonds before his eyes landed on Jaskier. He frowned as he took in how tightly the bard had been bound and struggled into a sitting position. 

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asked him quietly. 

Jaskier shook his head and immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes briefly to let the dizziness subside. 

“Do not lie to me,” Geralt bit out. “You're in pain.”

Jaskier opened his eyes and frowned at him before shaking his head more slowly. Geralt sniffed the air. 

“Drugged?”

Jaskier hummed an affirmative before shrugging as much as he was able. His shoulders were stinging with a burning ache from his arms being held behind him for so long. He had no idea how long they had been out. Jaskier flicked his eyes to the ropes at Geralt's ankles before looking at his face again, trying to get the message across. He was Witcher. It was time to do some Witchering. This was the part where they escaped. 

“This is the part where they kill us,” Geralt huffed as someone strode into the room and struck him hard across the face, making him flop back onto his side.

“Quiet!” It was the woman who'd captured Jaskier. She was an Elf and her eyes were angry and cold as she glanced between the two of them. The Elven man came in behind her holding Jaskier's lute in his hand. Looking at Jaskier steadily, he smashed it against the wall in time with the Elven woman's punches as she began to beat Geralt and list all of the horrible things humans were responsible for. The lute finally broke to pieces, the last sad twang of strings floating on the air before silence descended again. Jaskier moaned softly at the loss. The woman strode forward and backhanded him.

“Let him go! He's just a bard,” Geralt yelled as he jerked himself up into a sitting position again. There were bruises forming on his face and his lip had split open. She turned and struck him hard again and he braced himself to stay sitting upright. Jaskier cried out angrily behind the gag. All it did was make her come over and kick him hard in the chest. Jaskier wheezed and felt the fire of something cracking inside him on impact. Geralt growled. “Leave him be!”

“You want to die right now?” she said, the threat clear in her voice as she leaned down closer to Geralt. He headbutted her, making her stumble back with blood pouring down her face. 

“Enough, Toruviel.” The goat man came in and knelt down at her side, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to press it gently to her face.

Geralt checked on Jaskier who could only shake his head and heave for breath before turning back to the goat man. “You were stealing food for them,” 

“Yes. And why not? This land is theirs by right.”

“Torque. That's enough.” A quiet, yet authoritative voice rang out in the chamber as another Elf appeared. He had a regal bearing, but such an austere appearance. His patchwork coat and breaches had seen better days, but his blue eyes were bright. He eyed the remains of the smashed lute with a frown before coming over to Toruviel's side. 

“Who are you?” Geralt asked.

Torque stood, his hooves clacking on the rock. “He's Filavandrel, King of the Elves.”

The newcomer sighed, his head bowing wearily, making his pale hair catch the light. “I'm no King,” he said, his voice tired. 

Jaskier listened with half an ear as Geralt and Filavandrel debated the merits of starving for the sake of pride or moving forward to find a better life for his people. He was too distracted to pay much attention. The pain in his chest made it hard to breathe and he hummed to himself softly, desperately trying to ease the ache. When Toruviel rose to come silence him, Filavandrel held out a hand, stopping her. He was looking at Jaskier with a strange expression on his face. He had a knife in his hand and Geralt's head was tipped back. The Witcher had a calm look of acceptance on his face as he waited for death. His last words had been a request for Jaskier's release. Jaskier felt a tear slip down his cheek as he locked eyes with Filavandrel. Please, please don't kill him, he begged silently.

The Elf lowered the knife and came over to kneel in front of him. He raised his free hand and skimmed it over Jaskier's face, not quiet touching him before sliding his fingertips gently along the shell of his hear. Jaskier winced and made a muffled sound of pain as a sharp slice of sensation followed the touch. Filavandrel snatched his hand back like he'd been burned. Untying the gag, he removed it and pulled the sodden wad of fabric out of Jaskier's mouth. 

“Please don't kill him,” Jaskier whispered, his voice breaking. Filavandrel's eyes widened slightly and he leaned in closer. The Elf reached out and grasped the knotted piece of wood that had fallen free of Jaskier's doublet. 

“How did you come into possession of a piece of Leshen's heartwood?”

“What?” Jaskier asked, suddenly thrown by the change in topic. “What's a Leshen?”

“A forest guardian who doesn't just hand these out to everyone they meet.” Filavandrel cupped the knotted piece of wood gently in his palm, turning it so the twisted coils of it caught the light.

“He probably stole it,” Toruviel spat.

“No,” Filavandrel said evenly. “They cannot be stolen or gifted by anyone but the Leshen themselves. It gave it to you. Why?”

Jaskier swallowed. “I sang to it.”

Filavandrel frowned. “What about the wolves, the crows.” 

“The birds were busy and the wolves were. . .nice.” Jaskier shrugged helplessly, the fabric of his doublet shifting uncomfortably under the ropes. 

“Sing.”

“W-what?” Jaskier blinked at him.

“Sing,” Filavandrel said again, enunciating the word carefully as if Jaskier hadn't understood him the first time.

Jaskier swallowed hard and licked his lips, trying to work moisture back into his mouth. He started out haltingly before stopping again. Oh Gods, what words should he use? He had a feeling that their survival depended on his song even though he wasn't sure why. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly before closing his eyes and singing a song that his mother had sung to him when he was a small child whenever he'd been frightened. It eased his mind and made his muscles relax. It was a song of love and safety and when the last words faded, he let out a shaky breath. When he opened his eyes again, Filavandrel was watching him with a wounded expression on his face. The other Elf and Torque were staring with their mouths open wide in surprise. Toruviel was weeping. 

When Filavandrel moved forward with the knife, Jaskier cringed back. “Please. Don't.”

“Hush,” the Elf said soothingly as he cut the ropes that held Jaskier against the pole. He loosened the bindings at his wrists and carefully unwrapped his hands. Jaskier sat and stretched his legs out as he worked the feeling back into his fingers. Everything was tingling. Filavandrel went over to release Geralt. The Witcher's eyes hadn't left Jaskier since he'd asked for the Elves to let him go. Filavandrel gestured for them to follow him. “Come with me.”

Geralt helped Jaskier to his feet and didn't push him away as the bard pressed into his side. He put an arm around Jaskier's shoulders and guided him out of the room. None of the others would meet Jaskier's eyes as he passed them on the way out. 

They followed Filavandrel through a rough passageway to a rudimentary, but functional room with a fire pit and a table with chairs. The Elf set a kettle of water over the fire to boil and gestured for them to sit. Jaskier lowered himself carefully into a chair and put a hand on his chest, breathing experimentally to see if his ribs were still cracked. There was a dull ache, but it was already fading. Geralt remaining standing, settling behind Jaskier's chair. 

“Be aware Witcher that you survive today only through the grace of the company you keep.” Filavandrel eyed Geralt's hand where he'd laid it protectively on Jaskier's shoulder. Geralt said nothing. 

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked, suddenly feeling like he was missing something. 

“Who are you parents?” Filavandrel asked him, ignoring his question.

“Uh. Rene and Talwyn Pankratz. Why?

“I'm not talking about your human abductors. Who are your real parents?”

Jaskier blinked at him stupidly for a moment, his thoughts whirling. The idea that his mother wasn't really his mom made his heart ache, but he knew with a fierce certainty that the woman who raised him was the same woman who had birthed him. As for his father, all he felt was an immense sense of relief that he might not really be his dad. 

“My mother's full name was Renestrae.”

“Was?”

Jaskier blew out a breath. “She died,” he said quietly. “A long time ago.”

Filavandrel nodded to himself as he took out a delicate tea set that seemed at odds with their rough surroundings and pulled the hot kettle off the stove. He tossed some herbs into the pot and poured the water before putting on the cover to let them steep. “And what do you call yourself?”

“Jaskier.” Julian was dead as far as he was concerned. 

“Alright, little flower. I'm going to tell you a story and it may be hard to hear.” The Elf poured the tea carefully and precisely, not spilling a drop. Jaskier swallowed and accepted the slender tea cup that was handed to him. Filavandrel settled in the chair across from him and crossed one leg over the other. “I have not seen you for nearly thirty years,” he began, blowing on his own tea before taking a sip.

“Wait a minute.” Jaskier held up a hand and set down the cup before he dropped it. “I'm only twenty four.” 

“Thirty Six,” the Elf corrected evenly. “Though you look younger and will continue to age slowly.”

“Why?”

Filavandrel tiled his head and narrowed his eyes, like Jaskier should already know. “Because Elves do not age as humans do.”

“But I'm not an Elf,” Jaskier said slowly. He felt Geralt's hand squeeze his shoulder and he looked up at him. The Witcher didn't look surprised at all. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” Geralt said. “You don't smell human. I thought you might be wearing an enchantment, but you still looked human when I brought you across the border into Lettenhove the first time.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because there was nothing to say. I don't care what you are. It makes no difference to me.” It was said simply and quietly and Jaskier felt a flush along his cheeks. 

“How can you be so certain of my age?” Jaskier asked as he turned back to the Elf. He remembered the Werecat's words when he'd scented him and told him his blood was old. But now Jaskier wasn't entirely sure he'd meant his age. What if he'd been talking about his lineage? If such a thing could be detected by scent alone.

“I was present at your birth,” Filavandrel said. 

“You knew my mom,” Jaskier said softly.

“Yes. Hearing of her loss is. . .difficult.”

Jaskier slumped in the chair. It still hurt to think about her. “She got sick. And then she was gone. Nobody would tell me what happened.”

“You were something of a miracle child. Elves are only fertile once every decade or so, and only during their first two centuries. It's rare for Elven women to become pregnant after that time, and nearly impossible after four hundred. Your mother was six hundred and eighty when she became pregnant with you.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, not sure how he felt about that. He reached up to his ear, but only felt the smooth shell of skin and cartilage under his fingertips. There was no pain this time. “I don't look like an Elf.”

“No, you don't. And I'm not sure why.” Filavandrel's brow furrowed. “You were a healthy Elven child when you were born. But several years later when your mother brought you back to us, you appeared human as you do now, though it appears that you've begun to change yourself back.”

“I was only four when we came to the Wood. I barely remember it. And how could I possibly change myself?”

Filavandrel looked at him thoughtfully. “With your magic. Which apparently you know nothing about,” he said with a wry smile as Jaskier's expression remained blank. 

Jaskier cocked his head before looking up at Geralt. “We're not speaking Common, are we?”

“No,” Geralt said, sounding annoyed. “No one has spoken a single word of Common since we entered the clearing by the storehouse.”

“Right,” Jaskier sighed. “Just to put things into context,” he said the Filavandrel. “I don't know Elder Speech. I only took one class a long time ago and I barely remember any of it.”

“Really.” Filavandrel's voice was incredibly dry.

“Really. It just happens, like the music. I don't know how any of it works. I don't know how to consciously make it happen. I have no idea why the Rusalka didn't kill me or the Leshen untied me instead of tearing me apart. And I am really confused right now.” Jaskier heard Geralt grunt behind him, his tension palatable as he heard that last bit about the Leshen. He hadn't told him about Dell yet and wasn't' that going to be an interesting conversation later.

“Your gift is rare,” Filavandrel said, setting his empty cup down. “Healing magic takes a great deal of skill. Healing with music is incredibly rare and cannot be taught like other types of magic. The gift is innate and must be nurtured carefully. Your grandfather, Maedrilyn, was the last of his kind. Or so we thought. Wielding that kind of power unconsciously without training is unheard of.”

“Grandfather? Is he. . .?”

“He was lost along with your father in the Great Cleansing,” Filavandrel said, sorrow and anger, tinging his voice. “Your mother escaped with you, fleeing to the north and across the border into the Tech with a few others. You weren't even a year old yet.”

“What about the monsters?” Jaskier asked him.

“What about them?”

“They. . .like my singing. And my playing.” Jaskier swallowed hard, feeling the loss of his lute acutely. His fingers twitched and he curled them into fists in his lap. “Singing makes me feel better. It calms me down when I'm scared and It's healed me more than once. I think it even helped me find my way out of the Leshen's woods when I was lost.”

“Hmm.” Filavandrel looked lost in thought. He stared at Jaskier for a few moments before shifting his eyes to Geralt. “There has not been a mage who can soothe beasts with music and sing to the trees for more than a thousand years. The healing is rare enough. The rest is. . .”

“A myth?” Geralt supplied dryly.

“As you have no doubt seen with your own eyes, it is no myth. He is a Bard. His kind have not walked this earth since long before the Conjunction of the Spheres.”

“Bard, as in, capitol 'B' Bard?” Jaskier asked. “Is that really a thing? I mean, I'm a minstrel, or troubadour, or whatever term you want to use. But it's just a vocation.”

Filavandrel gave him a calm, patient look like you'd give a child when they said something stupid, yet adorable. Jaskier heard Geralt grunt behind him and he threw up his hands.

“Oh, both of you can fuck right off,” Jaskier said with a frown as he glared at the Elf. “Don't be condescending. I was raised in Lettenhove believing I was human. If what you say is true, I've been lied to my whole life. I think I'm allowed a little bit of disbelief and confusion.” 

“Of course,” Filavandrel said with a small nod. “My apologies. But bear in mind that disbelieving your own abilities will not make them go away.”

“I know. It actually explains a lot of a things. Like the sorceress and the men that destroyed my friend's shop.” 

“Explain.”

“There were these men who accused a friend of mine of using Elven magic. He's an Elf but all he was doing was cleaning clothes with a spell. He called it a cantrip. I think they were actually looking for me. And then a sorceress showed up and she asked how I healed myself. I couldn't answer her and she tried to pry the information out of my head.”

“Does this sorceress have a name?” Filavandrel asked, his tone cold.

“It's irrelevant,” Geralt said. “She's no longer part of the Brotherhood and she told them nothing. And she won't touch him again.” There was a certainty to his voice that made Jaskier wonder if he'd contacted her again after they'd parted ways.

“So It was Yennefer, then,” the Elf said thoughtfully. “I supposed that's the best case scenario. The other members would be far more troublesome.”

Jaskier swore he could hear Geralt glaring from behind him. 

“What about your friend? Does he know?” Filavandrel asked.

“I'm not sure. I didn't tell him and he didn't say anything. But he seemed to know that my singing was more than just music. He had a tailor shop in Yspaden, but it burned down.”

Filavandrel smiled tightly. “Elihal will keep whatever knowledge he has to himself.”

“You know him?” Jaskier perked up. “Is he here?”

“No. But he did come here before moving on. I believe he plans to move towards Novigrad. He's far more tolerant of humans than most.” The last was said a bit grudgingly.

“Do you know everyone?”

“I make it my business to know what I need to know. Now. It's getting late. You're welcome to stay here tonight, but it's not entirely safe. Many of the Elves here are young and angry. There are those that would try to use your abilities to their advantage if they found out what you are. And the others will hate you for looking so human. It wouldn't matter what you are on the inside. You'll have to leave in the morning.” 

“But I have more questions,” Jaskier said, trying not to sound needy. “Please. You can't just change my whole world view and then throw me out.”

“I have very few answers for you,” Filavandrel replied quietly. “No one alive possess the knowledge you seek about your gifts. And we are in a time of conflict and change. I have no safety to offer you and, while I am loathe to admit it, I have no resources to spare if you stayed. If the humans in the valley knew that you had contact with us, they would turn on you. It is far safer for you to move on and find your own way. We will remain.”

“You won't be able to stay in these caves forever,” Geralt said.

“I will take your words under consideration, Witcher. But there is much to do before I make any decisions. Will you be staying tonight or not? I have things to attend to.” 

“We'll be leaving as soon as you're done talking.” Geralt took out the pouch of coins he'd received at the inn and tossed it down onto the table. “Make sure Torque leave the area and stays away from the town. I was trying to send him away with a warning when your people showed up. The farmers won't be nearly so accommodating.”

“A Witcher that doesn't slay first and ask questions later? Interesting.”

“I have no desire to kill intelligent beings,” Geralt said, his tone low.

“I'm sure Blaviken will be thrilled to hear that,” Filavandrel replied. He eyed Geralt as if challenging him.

“Had the people there shown any signs of intelligence, things would have gone very differently.”

“Stop.” Jaskier looked back and forth between the two of them. If he'd been standing, he would have elbowed Geralt in the ribs. As it was, he was seriously considering kicking the Elf under the table. Filavandrel got up before he could try and went over to a chest that sat against the wall. Pulling out a silk wrapped bundle, he brought it back over to the table and held it out to Jaskier. 

“Forgive my people for the destruction of your instrument. Please accept this as a replacement. It is the only thing that I can offer to you.” 

Jaskier took it carefully and unwrapped the fabric to reveal the most beautiful lute he'd ever seen. It was made of dark wood with delicate inlays in the shape of vines and flowers. He blew out a soft breath and the sound of the strings vibrating softly nearly made him cry. Closing his eyes, he held the instrument in his hands and felt the weight of ages sing through his fingers. Jaskier plucked the strings with a sure hand, the sound clear and sweet, like it had just been cleaned and tuned, instead of being wrapped and locked in a trunk for who knows how long. It was old. Far older than him. And he had a feeling the wood used to create it was from a tree that wouldn't be found anywhere in this world.

“I can't accept this,” Jaskier said, even as he held the lute tightly, curling his body over it.

“It's yours by right,” Filavandrel said softly. “It was made by your grandfather. I have never heard a voice that came anywhere near his level of talent. Until today. If anyone is to play such an instrument, it's you.”

Jaskier nodded as he hugged the instrument and felt tears prick his eyes as the weight of what he'd learned settled on him like a heavy blanket. He really wasn't sure where to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some answers. (Here's hoping I haven't built the anticipation up too high for the reveal.) There's more to come as we move forward now that Geralt and Jaskier are back together again. This story has been complete for a while, and while I've been teasing two more stories after this one, there will be a clean resolution for most major story points.


	20. New Destinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, we're heading into the home stretch for the first story in this series. Thank you again for all the lovely comments. I appreciate everyone who's taken the time to say a few words. And for everyone who's come in to read, thank you, thank you. This has been a great experience.

Jaskier sat in the saddle on Roach's back and leaned back against Geralt with the beautiful new lute cradled in his lap. While he'd struggled to regain his tattered composure back in he Elves' cave, Filavandrel had drawn Geralt aside and spoken to him quietly. Jaskier had no idea what the Elf had said, but the Witcher just nodded and drew Jaskier to his feet before leading him outside. Roach had been waiting patiently with their things along with Geralt's confiscated swords. Now they were riding along the valley as night fell around them. They'd passed right through Posada without stopping. Nettly could think what he wanted. They made camp in a copse of trees tucked beside an outcropping of rocks. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, as he poked at the fire with a stick.

“I'm fine. Why?”

“You're not usually quiet for this long,” the other man grumbled.

“Yes, well. That was a lot to take in and I don't know what to think. I have so many questions and there's no one to ask.” He sighed. “I wish I could have stayed with them. At least for a little while.”

“Filavandrel was right. Young, angry Elves are especially dangerous. And they wouldn't have hesitated to use you if it suited them.”

“I know.”

“You're going to have to keep your abilities to yourself. Don't tell anyone. Not friends. Not family.”

“My family can go fuck themselves,” Jaskier said bitterly. “At least the humans pretending to be my family anyway. Apparently all of my blood kin are gone.” He wasn't sure why that hurt so much. Nothing was any different today than it had been yesterday. Only his perception and knowledge had changed. 

“In my experience, blood ties mean very little on their own. The family that you find along the way will care for you far more than anyone who simply shares your genetic material.”

“So your family sucks too, huh?”

“Let's just say my mother made some questionable choices and refused to talk about it even when I asked her directly.” Geralt huffed and swore under his breath. 

“What?”

The Witcher took a moment to think before he spoke again, his voice quiet. “When I'm with you, I say more in an hour than I've said in weeks. Usually without meaning to.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I'm a good listener, I guess” He frowned when Geralt huffed a short laugh.

“I find it hard to believe you have time to listen when you talk so much.”

“Oh, fuck you, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Jaskier huffed, but there was no heat in the words. He thought back to all of the times they'd traveled together, both with the caravan, and just the two of them. “Not once have you ever told me to shut up,” he said thoughtfully. 

“It would have been a waste of breath. You wouldn't have listened.”

“True,” Jaskier admitted without a shred of shame or guilt. “But you've still never said it. I appreciate that.” A small sigh left him. “For a long time, I was expected to be seen and not heard.” They sat in silence for a while, but it was a companionable quiet and Jaskier found himself drifting a bit as he stared into the fire.

“Where are we going now?” he asked after a bit.

“Kaer Morhen.”

“Wait. That's like, Witcher Central, right? Why are we going there?”

“It will take some time to get to the mountains. We'll have to go around Ard Carraigh. I'm not passing through it. Roach hates Tech.”

“She seemed fine before.”

“Yes, because I only stayed for a couple of hours. The days of traveling required to cross the region would make her jumpy and skittish for weeks afterward. It's easier to just go around.” 

“That still doesn't explain much.”

“I spend most winters at the Keep unless I have somewhere else to stay. The sooner we get to the mountains, the better so we can get through the passes before they get snowed in.” 

Jaskier grimaced at the thought of being snowbound for weeks. Winters in Lettenhove were miserable and he was glad to be rid of them. If he didn't know better, he'd swear they'd been getting colder every year.

“Okay. But that doesn't explain why you're taking me with you.” They still hadn't talked about what had happened just before Geralt left him or what he'd said. Jaskier still remembered the feel of the other man's lips on his own. But he'd left him behind more than once, and he wasn't sure why he was suddenly allowed to stay at his side this time. 

“It's far easier to take you with me than leave you behind only to trip over you again down the road,” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier huffed but didn't comment. It wasn't like he'd sought the Witcher out. He just kept running into him for some reason.

“Besides, you need practice,” Geralt continued. “The new lute seems to magnify your magic somehow, which is saying quite a bit. It was already considerable before this. If you intend to continue being a minstrel, you'll need to learn control so you don't accidentally ensorcell your audience.”

“I hadn't thought of that.” And he should have. There was a new danger to his chosen profession that he hadn't even considered before. “But what about you? Are you volunteering to be my guinea pig?” 

“Your what?”

“It's a small animal that used for. . .you know what? Never mind. What I mean is, you're going to willingly let me experiment with my magic and hope it doesn't fuck you up.”

“I'm a Witcher. I'm resistant to most magic, even yours.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier wasn't so sure about that. He remembered the way Geralt had made sure he wasn't present when Jaskier sang as the caravan first set out. The way he'd watched him that first night through the flames of the fire told him that he wasn't totally unaffected by it. And that was with a cheap lute that wasn't even comparable to the work of art he held protectively in his lap now. He hadn't let it out of his hands since it had been given to him.

“It's also for your safety,” Geralt continued. “You have a knack for attracting trouble. It will will be much more difficult for it to get to you through five Witchers.” 

“Five? Who else will be there besides Eskel?” Jaskier was actually looking forward to meeting the man who apparently owed Geralt money for the thing he'd done with the Witcher's sign when they fell out of the tree.

A small smile quirked the corner of Geralt's lips. “There's also Lambert. He's an asshole. You'll either get along immediately or hate each other, I'm not sure which. Coen isn't from the Wolf school but he usually winters with us. And Vesemir. He might have some advice about where to go from here.” 

Geralt uttered Vesemir's name with a tone of genuine respect Jaskier didn't hear from him often. He must be important. 

“And they're going to be okay with me singing and not knowing what it will do?”

“We'll talk about it when we get there. There are things we can do to create a controlled environment. I wouldn't worry about it right now.” Geralt leaned back against the smooth rock behind him. “So. What happened with the Leshen?” His tone was seemed casual on the surface, but there was an edge to it that told Jaskier not to dodge the question.

“The same thing that usually happens,” Jaskier shrugged. “Instead of dying, I made a new friend. Well. Friends, plural. I've never seen wolves act like puppies before.” 

“Hmm. You said it untied you. How did you come to be tied up in the first place?” 

“Dell didn't go back to Lettenhove. He followed me the whole way and jumped me in my apartment in Ard Carraigh. Then he took me into that dark patch of forest south of the city.” Jaskier didn't go into detail. He didn't think Geralt would take it well if he described the way the other man had taken his clothes off and redressed him while he lay helpless on the bed. “I'm not sure what he was planning exactly. The Leshen and the wolves showed up before he could really do anything.” He took a deep breath to calm himself and strummed idly at the lute strings. “Someone hired him to kill me,” he said quietly.

“I though you said your past wouldn't follow you into the Wood.”

“I didn't think it would. Honestly. I mean, it's not the first time I've been threatened. My family is rich and that comes with a lot of uncomfortable strings.” Jaskier felt his throat constricting a bit and his shoulders tightened. Julian may be dead in his eyes, but the past clung to him uncomfortably still. “But it's never been that . . real before.”

“There were no other attempts on your life?”

“Well. A couple days after you brought me back from the Wood the first time, there were two guys with a knife in an alley. They said it had to look like a mugging. A friend chased them away.”

“Anything else?”

Jaskier glanced up at Geralt for the first time since he started talking. He was being oddly gentle, his voice softer than usual. “No. Not that I'm aware of.”

“I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

Jaskier laughed bitterly. “I can't afford to pay you.” He had to swallow as Geralt just stared at him, his expression intense and direct. His golden eyes shone like coins in the light of the fire. Jaskier felt himself caught in his gaze, unable to look away.

“I don't want your money.”

“Then what do you want?” Jaskier's voice was barely a whisper. Geralt didn't answer him. He just shifted his eyes to the fire again. Jaskier waited patiently, hoping that he could wait him out and the Witcher would finally say what he was thinking. But the other man stayed quiet. Jaskier suddenly felt unbearably tired. Settling down on his bedroll, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. 

*******

Jaskier felt more subdued as they continued on. He walked at the Witcher's side and played his new lute. It's sound almost seemed to shift as he played, like it was changing to suit him. The sound warmed and softened, accompanying his voice better than any instrument he'd ever played before. At night, he worked on lyrics and poems, putting his feelings into words as he always did when he was working through something. Geralt was a calm, quiet presence at his side. This was the kind of quiet he didn't mind. Despite everything, they settled into a companionable silence rather quickly.

They camped along the road, occasionally staying in a small inns or negotiating to sleep in someone's barn on colder nights. The temperature was dropping steadily and nearly everyone in the taverns they visited was muttering about the unseasonable cold. The second time Geralt was approached by a timid villager with a job after Jaskier had mentioned out loud that he was a Witcher, he knew he was on to something. 

Geralt always listened patiently to those who were in genuine distress. He had no patience with idiots or blowhards and was quick to diffuse tense conversations or just walk away when it wasn't worth his time. But he always made time to listen to those that really needed his help. The world needed to know this. When Jaskier had made it his mission in life to rehabilitate Geralt's image, he hadn't really understood why beyond wanting to see him treated better. But it was more than that now. People needed him. One night when they sat down with hot bowls of stew next to a warm fire, Jaskier laid out his plan.

“No.”

“Wait. What do you mean, no?” 

Geralt gave him a painfully patient look. “You are not going to sing about me.”

“I wasn't asking your permission,” Jaskier said with a snort. “I just thought you'd like to know.” 

“I do not need a barker.” 

“I beg to disagree. I meant what I said back in Barefield. Most people don't even know what you do aside from killing things.”

“That is all I do. There is nothing else,” Geralt said, turning his attention back to his bowl.

“On the contrary. You help the helpless, avenge the fallen, and rarely take more from someone than they can afford. Unless they deserve it,” Jaskier added, thinking of that greedy prick that had hired Geralt to clean out a ghoul nest only after it had threatened him personally. Three of his servants had died needlessly because he had refused to hire Geralt when he'd come through three weeks prior. 

“I'm no hero.” Geralt's lips thinned as his protest became more clipped. Jaskier knew he was pushing his luck, but he refused to drop it. 

“There are many kinds of heroic deeds. Few are able to do the things you do. Hell, you don't even have to. You just do.”

“This is what I was made for.”

“And that sounds like an automatic answer that you don't even believe. It's also a load of shit.”

Geralt's expression didn't change, but a strange tension slid along his shoulders. “It's true whether you like it or not. Witchers were created to fight monsters. Our bodies are mutated and changed to be able to handle the strain of battling the things no human can withstand.”

“Seriously. Are you reading from an index card?” Jaskier made an exaggerated show of searching before reaching out and lifting Geralt's hand to see if he was hiding notes there. Geralt growled and pinned Jaskier's hand to the table. But Jaskier just grinned, feeling like he'd won. Without taking his eyes off the Witcher's face, Jaskier turned his hand and grasped the underside of Geralt's wrist. “Let me do this for you,” he said. 

Geralt pulled away, but not roughly. It was a more measured movement, like he had to fight with himself to withdraw. “Is there any way to make you reconsider?”

“Nope. I've already got a few things in the works. You'll have to tie me up and gag me to keep me from singing your praises.”

“You're trying me patience.”

“I'm trying to be your friend,” Jaskier said evenly. Well. It was actually a lot more complicated than that, but he had to start somewhere. Geralt let out a long, defeated sigh before pulling away and heading up to their room. Jaskier watched him go before finishing his cooling meal and downing the rest of his ale and gesturing for another. He got out his lute and played all the dirtiest songs he'd learned since entering the Wood, earning him laughter and bawdy smiles from the farmers who'd stopped in for a pint. 

******* 

A week later, Jaskier shivered under his cloak. A cold snap had settled in the night before and he just couldn't get warm enough. Gloves would have to be his next major purchase. His fingers were cramping and no amount of rubbing them together seemed to make a difference. He had to keep them tucked into his armpits to maintain any amount of warmth. At least he had decent boots. His feet were still cold but not freezing. It was getting darker and he had no idea what it would be like after the sun went down. 

“Think we'll make it to a town sometime tonight?”

“No. We won't reach any settlements until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”

“At which point we'll spend at least one night,” Jaskier said. “And I'm not asking. I'm making a statement that is not to be contradicted under any circumstances.” 

“When we reach Gelibol, we'll be getting you warmer clothing. You'll need it in the mountains anyway.”

“No arguments here,” Jaskier muttered. “I expected to be settled in Oxenfurt by now where there are buildings with doors and windows and lovely, lovely fireplaces.” 

“This cold is unseasonable and it won't last.”

“But what if it does? What if the passes are already snowed in? Do we have a backup plan?”

“We'll get through,” Geralt rumbled. 

He turned Roach off the road and moved into the bushes as he looked for a place to camp. Further into the trees, the found an overhanging rock with a clear space beneath. There were no signs of animal habitation and it provided a bit of cover from the chill wind. Geralt gathered loose stones and made a ring while Jaskier searched for wood for the fire. There was a fair amount of dry dead fall and loose twigs and by his third trip, there was a huge pile. Geralt raised a brow.

“Planning on a bonfire?”

“I am cold and I do not want to go wandering around in the dark looking for more wood in the m-middle of the n-night.” Jaskier's teeth chattered, shaking the last few words out of his mouth. 

Geralt frowned and set the wood ablaze with a flick of his fingers. They ate quickly before Geralt shucked his armor and got out the bedrolls and the spare blanket. Holding them under his arm, he used the sign again against the rock that would serve as their shelter for the night. The fire licked along the stone, creating scorch marks, but leaving it intact. And warm. Jaskier could feel the heat radiating from where he stood. It would most likely fade, but right now, it felt wonderful. But he paused as Geralt set the bedrolls down side by side between the fire and the scooped out hollow under the rock. Jaskier swallowed as he pulled his cloak tighter around him. Hoo boy. They had yet to share a bed or sleep that close to one another.

“Stop looking like a frightened maiden and come here.”

Jaskier sputtered. “I am not. . .” he trailed off in an insulted huff as he saw the curl of Geralt's lips. He glowered and went over before flopping down, settling down on his side facing the fire while Geralt laid the spare blanket over him. He wasn't nervous or scared. Geralt's presence didn't bother him like that. And the kiss told him that the other man was more than willing to be closer if he'd just take a moment to pull the stick out of his ass. There was something mutual between them, that was obvious. But they still hadn't talked about it and he wasn't sure where the boundaries were. Coupled with Jaskier's newfound sense of otherness that left him feeling like a stranger in his own skin, he wasn't quit sure how to proceed.

Geralt settled behind him pressed up against his back, pulling Jaskier against his body with an arm around his waist. He pulled the edge of his own cloak over him so they were both wrapped in it. Jaskier finally felt warm for the first time in hours and his muscles started to relax. Geralt's body gradually loosened behind him so he was held in a softer embrace instead of a tight hold. He felt the other man's warm breath against his neck as he sighed against him. It felt good here, laying like this. It was a necessity out of the cold, but the way Geralt's arm held him was more than just perfunctory closeness for the sake of sharing body heat. 

“Geralt.”

“Hnn.”

“What changed your mind?”

“About what?”

“About me,” Jaskier said, trying not to be irritated.

“What about you?”

“Don't pretend to be an idiot. It doesn't suit you,” Jaskier huffed as he snuggled deeper into their cloaks. “I know you're not the clueless social moron you pretend to be. You've gone from 'I can't afford this,' to taking me home to meet your family. Why?” 

Geralt's arm tightened around his waist. “It seems I can't be rid of you. You've crossed my path three times now, twice after I left you behind. At this point, it just easier to keep you. Go to sleep.”

Jaskier felt a pang in his chest, remembering the last time he'd said that to him. “You'll still be here when I wake up?” His voice sounded small and unsure.

“Yes. Sleep.” Geralt's breathing slowed and Roach whickered softly from nearby, like she was trying to reassure him. Jaskier felt himself drifting before he finally went to sleep himself.


	21. Midday Sorrow

Three days later, Gelibol rose up before them, tucked into hills that sloped down toward the a wide river. It was larger the Yspaden. A small, stone keep sat at the highest point, its squat, cubical shape hovering like a dark little cloud above the houses and buildings. It was mid-morning and there were lots of people going in and out of the gates. There were guards stationed outside eyeing the travelers who entered, and merely glancing at those leaving. Their postures stiffened as they saw Geralt and their hands tightened on their pikes. Jaskier wasn't having any of that.

“Good day, gentleman,” he said with a nod as he waked beside Roach. The guards looked at him and then at Geralt before snickering. Jaskier ignored them. They may have been making lewd assumptions, but at least they were relaxing and didn't look as openly hostile anymore. When they had passed through the gate, Geralt growled down at him. 

“Have a care not to draw too much attention to yourself. It's not always healthy to have the guards remember you.” 

“As long as they aren't focusing on you anymore, I don't care. It looked like they were trying to gauge whether or not they could take you.”

“You're going to have to get used to it,” Gerald replied calmly. “You're not going to be able to take on everyone who tries to insult me.”

Jaskier was willing to try. Within limits, of course. He wasn't completely stupid. They stabled Roach and headed to the marketplace to see what they could find for winter clothing. In the main square, Jaskier stopped by the message board as something caught his eye. Several notices had been posted from people in town, ranging from requests for trades to bitter, petty complaints against neighbors. A larger parchment had been tacked in the middle with a nail, its seal and ribbon fluttering in the breeze. There was something in the field to the northwest that was killing farmhands and leaving dried out, scorched corpses behind. The miller that lived on the edge of town was offering a reward for anyone who would get rid of it.

“Geralt.”

The Witcher came over and read the notice. His lips thinned briefly before he took the parchment and tucked it into his pouch. “I'll drop you off at the inn.”

“Oh, no. You're not leaving me behind again, even temporarily,” Jaskier said, folding his arms over his chest. “You can't have it both ways. Besides, you need to go talk to the miller and I'm fairly certain he'll be more amenable to a friendly word than a series of irritated grunts.”

Geralt growled low under his breath but said nothing as he headed out of the square and towards the gate on the other side of town. A large windmill sat on a ridge in the distance, it's blades turning lazily in the mid-morning breeze. When they got closer, one of the workers set down the sack he was carrying on a waiting cart and dusted his hands on his breaches. His eyes skipped over Jaskier's blue doublet and trousers before settling on Geralt, wariness clear in his gaze. 

“We want no trouble,” the man said. 

“No trouble,” Geralt told him as he pulled out the notice. “I'm a Witcher. Here to see the miller.”

The man sighed and pulled off his cap to scratch at his balding head as his eyes tipped down towards the ground. “Oh. Bertrand's out on a delivery. Won't be back until tomorrow.”

Geralt watched him for a moment as he tucked the notice away again. “What do you know about the field?”

The man's eyes flicked back up and he looked at Geralt nervously. “Nothin',” he said. “I don't work in the fields.” He jammed the cap down on his head again before ducking away and slipping into the windmill. 

“Now what?” Jaskier asked as he watched the door to the mill slam shut.

“Now we ask around to see what our friend is hiding,” Geralt said as he headed off towards one of the nearby storage buildings. They talked to three farmhands and another mill worker, all of them reluctant to talk. But an older woman working a loom in one of the nearby workshops beckoned them closer as she continued to move the shuttle through the weave. She hit the peddle to shift the stretched threads and repeated the process.

“You're here about Joanna,” she said, her voice a low monotone as her hands kept working the threads. 

“I'm here about the notice that Bertrand left in town. Someone told me he'll be back tomorrow.”

“Hmnph. The coward,” she muttered, vitriol tainting her words. “He'll be back when someone cleans up the mess he made. Killed my Joanna and now he hides from the land's justice.”

“Who's Joanna?” Jaskier asked gently.

“It's what's left of her that haunts the fields, waiting for that bastard. My little girl. Pretty as a picture and talented with a needle. Dead as a doornail and rotting in the ground!” She clenched her teeth and shoved the shuttle through the weave with enough force to make it slide out the other side and clatter down onto the floorboards. She stared at it angrily like it had failed her somehow.

“Have the bodies of the farmhands been buried yet?” Geralt asked her, not unkindly. 

“Bertrand ordered them to be burned immediately.” Her lip curled. “Twas shame that drove him, the bastard. She was to be his bride and now she's dead.” She looked up at Geralt, her eyes burning with grief and fervor. “If you end him, I will give you everything I have.” 

“I'm not a hired killer.” Geralt's tone was low, but not angry. “But I can lay your daughter to rest.”

“And what good with that do her?” Tears started streaming down her face. “What good will it do ME?” she cried as she started to weep.

“Madam,” Jaskier said gently as he offered her a clean handkerchief. She glared at Jaskier but took the cloth from him to wipe her eyes. “My heart breaks for your loss. But if your daughter is still bound to this world, she is suffering. Please. Allow Geralt to give her peace.”

The woman sniffed and looked at Jaskier with watery eyes, her her expression melting quickly from fury to weary grief. “What would you have me do?”

“I'll need something of hers,” Geralt said. “Something she had in her possession while she still lived.” He stayed where he was, not moving as he let Jaskier be a buffer between himself a the grieving mother. She pulled out a locket from where it hung under her blouse. 

“Will I be able to have it back? It's all I have of her.”

“Yes. I only need it to draw her spirit out. It will be returned to you when I'm done.” Geralt accepted the locket with care, wrapping it in a piece of silk from his pouch before tucking it away. When they were outside again, Jaskier took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly. They moved away from the workshop and down the road. 

“You already know what you're dealing with, don't you?”

“A Noonwraith.” When he didn't elaborate, Jaskier made a waving gesture with his hands, encouraging him to continue. 

“And? Don't be stingy with the details.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “It's the spirit of a woman, bound by vengeance against her betrayer or murderer. Or both depending on what happened.”

“Are they always made with murder?” Jaskier asked him, as he swallowed the bitterness in his throat. The woman's pain had gotten to him. He understood what that kind of loss felt like.

“Not necessarily, but they're always bound by pain and anger. You were right that she suffers. How did you pluck out that detail without knowing?”

Jaskier's lips thinned. “I guessed. You talked about laying her to rest. No ghost story I've ever read has peaceful spirits that are happy and comfortable with their existence.”

“You should be wary of making decisions based on fairy tales.” 

“Most stories are based in some kind of truth,” Jaskier shrugged. “So what about our illustrious friend Bertrand?”

“What about him?” Geralt's rumble was lower and tinged with anger.

“Look, I know you're not going to kill him, and I wouldn't want you to. But is he just going to get away with it?”

“We don't know what happened and we have no proof, only the word of the girl's mother. There's the possibility that this is something else entirely. I haven't looked at the bodies or the place where they died yet.”

“Well, the field is over that way,” Jaskier said, pointing up the road. “Let's go check it out.”

Geralt looked up at the sun's position in the sky. It was near midday. “No. You're not coming.”

“I'll keep my distance and stay out of your way. But I'm going. It's somewhat difficult to chronicle deeds you haven't actually seen.”

“Make something up.” 

Jaskier knew he was pressing, but he'd stayed behind on the other two hunts Geralt had been contracted for where he'd gone after Drowners and Ghouls. Neither of those things appealed to him as subjects worthy of a song. But the spirit of a young woman betrayed by her betrothed and the Witcher hired by her weeping mother was just the kind of tragic fare that would catch an audience's attention. And it had the potential to help turn the tide on the public's opinion of Witchers in general. There had been genuine concern in Geralt's gruff voice as he spoken to Joanna's mother. 

“Is there any way to make some sort of protective circle, or something?”

“Not from this, and not in the time we have. You'll be safer in town.”

“That's what you said when you left me in Ard Carraigh,” Jaskier said, his exasperation starting to bleed through. Geralt stopped and turned to him, a pained expression on his face and Jaskier moved in closer. “You're not going to be able to protect me from everything. But at least with this, you know what your dealing with.”

“I have a lead. I still need to know more.” Geralt raised his hand but stopped shy of touching Jaskier's cheek. Turning abruptly, he headed out into the fields. “Stay close. Follow my directions. Don't wander off,” he snapped.

Jaskier followed close on his heels, shifting his pack and lute case as he went. He didn't dare say anything else, knowing that he'd just won a thin victory over the protectiveness that Geralt kept showing him without meaning to. Jaskier was fairly certain that half of the other man's irritation was aimed at himself for letting so much slip. 

They stopped at the edge of a large field of wheat that looked ripe, the seeded heads of the stalks drooping under their own weight. If it wasn't harvested, it would soon rot on the stalk. Geralt took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose as he turned in a slow circle. He gestured at an abandoned cart that sat at the edge of the field.

“Stay here. Don't come any closer.” Geralt eyed him seriously. “If something comes your way that isn't me, run.” 

Jaskier snorted. “If something happens, I'm not leaving you out here.”

“This isn't negotiable. If the Wraith is here, you'll be able to see it well enough.” The rumble of Geralt's voice held more worry than threat. It was that, more than the words themselves, that made Jaskier nod at him and settle on the edge of the cart. 

“Okay.”

Some of the tension in Geralt's shoulders eased as he pulled two small bottles out of a pouch at his waist. He poured the contents of one of the bottles over one of his swords. It ran down the blade, giving it a green, oily sheen. Jaskier was going to ask about it, but he was distracted as Geralt drank the second bottle. Black veins slid under his skin and he bared his teeth as his golden eyes were engulfed by an inky blackness. Jaskier took in a shuddering breath. He'd seen his face like this once before on the night he'd killed the Foglet, but he'd never seen the process from the beginning. Geralt caught him staring and turned his face away, like he was trying to hide. But Jaskier wasn't afraid of him. He reached out and laid his fingertips on Geralt's cheek, gently turning him back. 

“Be careful,” he told him, watching him with calm eyes. Geralt's brow furrowed, but he nodded before turning away and heading out into the wheat. Jaskier sat on the cart and pulled out his lute, but didn't play. He wasn't going to distract him while he was working so just he held the lacquered wood in his hands. Geralt continued to move across the field, changing direction occasionally before kneeling down until he was almost hidden by the stalks of wheat. It was a large field and they didn't have much to go on except for the general direction, so it was probably going to take some time. It went on like that for a while as the sun reached its zenith. It was warmer today and Jaskier closed his eyes, letting the sunlight bathe his face. 

A prickling chill ran up Jaskier's spine and he shivered as the lonely cold of the grave seared along his skin with icy fingers. Something blocked out the sun and he felt the chill touch of something shifting along his knees where he sat on the cart. Taking a shuddering breath while keeping his eyes closed, he strummed his fingers across the lute strings slowly. The attention of the hovering shadow focused on him suddenly. Jaskier opened his eyes to see the horrifying visage of a young dead woman, the spectral tatters of her wedding gown billowing around her and brushing against his trousers. Her skin looked desiccated and her hair was pale and bleached, like she'd lain in the sun too long. A wilted crown of dying flowers was shedding bruised petals as she hovered before him. 

“Joanna,” he whispered.

Her dark, sunken eyes regarded him calmly but he felt an underlying layer of rage at the unfairness of a life cut short. But nearly drowning it out was an unbearable feeling of sorrow emanating from her.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered as a tear slid down his cheek. 

“Jaskier, move!” 

Jaskier obeyed immediately, throwing himself out of the cart, narrowly missing the claws that raked the planks where he'd been sitting. A wide, circle of glowing purple symbols appeared on the ground around them and the Wraith reared back, her angry wail shearing across Jaskier's ears. He scrambled past the edge of the symbols and winced as the barrier nipped at his skin with hot needles. Joanna screamed again and he covered one ear with his free hand while he clutched at the lute with the other. Geralt's oily sword swept through her incorporeal body and she disappeared. Jaskier looked around frantically. She wasn't gone. He could feel that she was still there even though he couldn't see her. Sure enough, three duplicate images of her appeared and circled around Geralt as he held his sword at the ready. Twirling nimbly, he dispatched them one by one, wielding the sword as if it were an extension of his arm. 

Jaskier sat transfixed as he watched the Witcher twist and turn easily with practiced movements. Joanna coalesced as a single entity again and took one last swipe at Geralt before he ran her through with the blade. She arched her back and wailed one more time with her arms thrown wide before she faded and dissolved into a cloud of sparkling particles. All that was left of her was a small scattering of dust, a few strands of bleached hair, and a wilted rose peal. Geralt nudged the petal aside and gathered up the dust in a bottle before tucking it away. The hair, he coiled up and put inside the locket. 

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asked him, his voice even more gravely than usual. 

“No.” He clutched the lute as he realized how hard his heart was beating. “I stayed where you said. I swear.”

Geralt sighed and pulled a small jar out of his pack. He thumbed out a small daub of a white substance that had the consistency of honey. Licking his thumb clean, he capped the jar and put it away. The blackness immediately faded from his eyes and the veins along his neck smoothed and faded back to normal. 

“Like I said, trouble follows you,” Geralt rumbled. “This is why I wanted you to stay in town.” 

“Because I'm a monster magnet?” Jaskier asked with a wince. 

Geralt just gave him a dry look. Frowning, he came closer and reached out to brush his thumb across Jaskier's cheek, smoothing the tear away. Jaskier swallowed as the touch left a trail of soft, tingling warmth across his skin. 

“You cannot shed tears for all of them. She's at peace now.” Geralt's voice was oddly gentle.

“She deserved better.” Jaskier looked the other man over, trying to see if he was bleeding anywhere. “Did she get you?”

“No. This was fairly easy,” he said as he wiped the oil off the blade and sheathed it. 

“What was that you poured on your sword?”

“A specially formulated oil that weakens monsters. And the potion made my signs stronger, though I didn't really need it. She wouldn't have been strong enough to cross the barrier even if I hadn't used it.” 

“Well aren't you just a veritable font of information today.” Jaskier grinned at him when he glared. His heart settled and he put the lute back in its case. 

They headed back to the mill to see Joanna's mother who wept when she opened the locket and saw the lock of hair. She gave Geralt a pouch of coins that was probably all she had, but she refused to take it back. Tucking the locket back under her blouse, she left the loom and walked away down the road away from the town with nothing more than the clothes on her back. Geralt watched her go with an unreadable expression on his face. A tragic end to a tragic tale. But then again, perhaps not. There was still Bertrand to contend with. 

Back in town, they rented a room. Geralt settled down to clean his sword while Jaskier immediately took out his journal and started taking notes. He wished that ink pens worked in the Wood so he could easily write in the field. Quills and ink pots weren't exactly convenient. He'd have to look around and find out what worked here. A melody was already starting to play in his head to accompany the words as he wrote them down on the page. He'd played and sang his own music plenty of times in the Wood so far, but this was the first time he felt like he had a finished piece on his hands. He couldn't wait to debut it.


	22. Self Appointed Barker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd forgotten how fun it was to chat with readers and other authors. Thank you for the lovely comments, all of you. And thank you to everyone who's been reading.

Later that evening, they were eating dinner down in the common room of the inn. Jaskier savored the roast pork with sweet apple glaze and herb roasted vegetables. It was the best meal he'd eaten in quite a while and it was paired with decent beer. He was on his second mug when a man approached their table. Geralt showed no signs that he cared one way or another, but there was a careful tension in his shoulders. 

“Jaskier the Bard?” the man asked tentatively as his eyes flicked between Jaskier and Geralt.

“Who wants to know?” Geralt asked him. 

“I was told to watch for a man in colorful clothing who might be traveling with a white haired guardian.” The man's lips thinned. “He also said that he would have left a bouquet of buttercups if they weren't out of season.”

Jaskier smiled in surprise and pulled out the Bill of Naming. The messenger glanced at it and nodded before handing him an envelope with a blank wax seal. Breaking the wax, Jaskier pulled out a small sheet of parchment, wondering what Vaz had to say. A surprisingly neat script filled the page.

_Buttercup-_  
_If you're reading this, you've probably followed the caravan. I can't tell you much, but you're safer without us. If you see Dell again, do not trust him. He's more dangerous than he appears. Stay with the Wolf as long as you can. He'll keep you safe._  
_V._  
_P.S. Do NOT go back to Lettenhove under any circumstances._

The last words made Jaskier swallow hard. Why did Vaz feel the need to warn him away from Lettenhove? What was happening there? Did he know about the hit men that had been sent? He seemed to know who, or what, Dell was. Jaskier handed the parchment to Geralt when he held out his hand. The Witcher read it with a frown on his face before tucking it and the envelope into his pouch. 

“Did you know anything about what they were doing?” Jaskier asked him. 

“No, and I didn't ask. It didn't concern me then.” 

“And now?”

“I'm not sure,” Geralt said as he sat back in his chair. “So, are you going to sing for the masses tonight?” If Jaskier didn't know better, he'd think he was changing the subject. But since the other man seemed more closed off than usual at the moment, he let it go. His audience awaited, after all.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, saluting him with his mug before draining the rest of the beer and setting it down on the table with a clack. He wasn't going to let his fears get the best of him and he had a self-appointed job to do. “I have a new ballad to debut. And the innkeeper said he'd give us a discount if I brought in extra business.”

“New?” Geralt's eyes narrowed and a look of suspicion clouded his features. “Dare I ask what it's about?”

A small smile curled Jaskier's lips. “You'll have to wait and see like everyone else.”

“Delightful.” Geralt's deadpan made Jaskier's smile widen. 

Pulling out his lute, Jaskier stood and addressed the crowd with a flourish. “Good evening, good people of Gelibol,” he said, feeling anticipation coil in his belly as people turned their attention to him. He started playing the opening bars of his new song as he spoke. The new lute wove the sound beautifully, weaving the notes together more easily than he'd ever managed before. “Tonight, I shall regale you with a tale of romance and tragedy. A story of villainy nearly unpunished and justice meted out by. . .The White Wolf.” His words built until he paused, speaking the last of his intro in hushed tones. The crowd fell quiet, their attention now fully on him as his fingers started to pluck out the melody of 'Midday Maiden', his newest piece finished only an hour before. 

Jaskier sang of love's promise and and a young maiden full of life as she prepared to be wed to her beloved. 

The crowd sighed in anticipation of joy only to breathe out in disappointment as he continued. 

Just as the maid's wishes were about to be fulfilled, she was struck down, her life cruelly stolen before her time was done. She mourned her lost potential and the children she would never bear, as she wailed at the sky, unable to find peace when her murderer roamed free. 

All eyes were on Jaskier, rapt with attention as he sang. 

The maiden's spirit floated beneath the sun, her pain scorching all who would attempt to bring her solace. Until one day, The White Wolf came to call. Snow white hair and golden eyes, looking on with compassion and vengeance. 

A few people turned to Geralt with speculation in their gaze. Some were nervous, but others relaxed and turned back to continue listening. Geralt remained passive and quiet, his eyes glinting in the firelight as he watched Jaskier sing.

To ease a mother's mourning, the Witcher promised to lay her daughter to rest. He brought the maiden peace with the silver arc of his sword before laying low the one responsible for her demise. The fields were now safe, the town secure as the harvest was brought to table, and the townspeople gave thanks.

As the last notes of the song faded, Jaskier gave a deep bow. It was silent for a moment, but then the crowd seemed to take a breath, as if they'd been holding it while he sang. Applause filled the air as coins tinkled at his table and the floorboards at his feet. Jaskier grinned and waved a hand graciously at the crowd. A couple of people walked out with a frown, but there was no way to please everyone. Jaskier was elated. A drink was placed at his elbow, and a shout rang out to request another song. It was one he'd learned in a town to the north. He took a swig before sailing into the next tune. It was a livelier drinking song and the crowd clapped along. 

By the time the night was done, Jaskier's purse was much heavier and he'd earned them a steep discount for the room as long as he wished to stay and perform. As he bid farewell to the remaining patrons, Geralt appeared at his elbow and they headed towards the stairs. In the upstairs hallway, a young man stood waiting for them. He nodded nervously as they regard him with caution. 

“Beggin' your pardon, sirs. You're the Witcher? The White Wolf in the song?” he asked Geralt timidly.

Jaskier looked at Geralt, waiting to let the other man confirm or deny, though it would be foolish to do so since it was obvious who he was at a glance.

“I am,” Geralt said evenly. Jaskier could tell he wanted to curl his lip in distaste at the new nickname, but he just sighed quietly instead. 

“I'm in need of a Witcher, sir. And one that won't just murder first and ask questions later.”

“What's the job?”

The young man took a breath. 

“My Annie's gone missing. I'm afraid she's been turned into a beast. I need to know if she can be saved.”

“What makes you think she hasn't left on her own?” Geralt's tone was bored and sullen. Jaskier elbowed him in the side, not bothering to be subtle about it.

“Don't undo my hard work,” he muttered. He turned to the young man and nodded respectfully. “Is there some reason to believe she's turned into something?”

“A wandering trader passed through here last month, and tried to woo her away from me. But when she refused, he laid a curse upon her. Nothing happened at first, but the other morning, she was gone. Her empty clothes were lying at the edge of the woods. Please,” he said, his eyes betraying his desperation. “She's all I have.”

Geralt sighed again. “Meet me outside tomorrow morning and I'll take a look. I make no promises,” he added quickly when the young man's expression shifted to a painfully hopeful expression. “But I'll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Master Witcher. Thank you. I will be here at first light.” With a last nod of thanks, he left.

“You're welcome,” Jaskier said, feeling entirely too pleased with himself as he pushed open the door to their room.

“For what?”

“For getting you a job.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” Geralt huffed as he took off his sword belt and started loosening his armor. “I don't need your help to find work.”

“It certainly couldn't hurt,” Jaskier said with a shrug. He set his lute down carefully, giving it a soft pat of thanks before he caught himself. “Besides. The world could use a few more heroic tales of justice done.”

“Don't make a hero out of me,” Geralt snapped. His tone had soured, but his expression held more distaste than anger. “It creates unrealistic expectations that are impossible to meet,” he continued. “I've no interest in being threatened with a noose for failing an impossible task because my reputation was blown out of proportion by your boasting.”

“Calm down. I have no intention of turning you into a mythical figure. I just want to tell people that they have nothing to be afraid of. Besides, I didn't sing about anything that wasn't true.”

“Except for the part where I struck down the Noonwraith's killer.” Geralt huffed and pulled off his boots. “We still have no evidence that Bertrand was responsible.”

“We don't have any evidence that he wasn't. And with the way his people were getting all shifty when you were asking about the field, it was obvious that something was up. Think of it as a promise.” Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his own boots off. He saw Geralt preparing to settle by the small fireplace. “Oh, no. You're not kneeling on the hearth all night and you're not sleeping on the floor.” Jaskier immediately pointed to the bed. “We don't have to spoon or anything, but there's more than enough space for both of us.” 

Geralt seemed to be internally debating the dubious merits of arguing with him, but apparently decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Stripping down, he came over and slid beneath the covers as Jaskier finished undressing for bed. Jaskier took his time and checked his things, before washing his face and joining him. He settled down under the blanket and slowed his breathing, feeling the presence of the other man laying next to him. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to be closer, but he wasn't sure about initiating anything. Geralt was the one who usually touched him first, and it was warm enough in the room that there was no need to huddle together to conserve heat. So he lay on his side of the bed and relaxed, listening to the slow beat of Geralt's heart. It was slower than his own by quite a bit, but strong and steady. He felt asleep listening to the other man breathe and wondered if he was asleep already.

*******

Jaskier was roused by Geralt moving beside him. The Witcher was gently disentangling himself from where Jaskier was pressed up against his side with an arm thrown across his waist. The bard yawned as the blanket was tucked back around him to keep the warmth under the covers. It was barely light outside and he had no intention of leaving the bed just yet.

“Mrph,” Jaskier grumbled as he pulled Geralt's pillow closer and pressed his face into it. “Too early.”

“Go back to sleep,” Geralt murmured. There was no force behind the words, just a quiet request. “Stay in town today. I'll come back before nightfall.”

“Okay,” Jaskier sighed. He could have sworn he felt the other man's hand smooth over his hair as he drifted off to sleep again.

Later that morning, Jaskier reached out and slid his hand along the cold sheets where Geralt had been lying the night before. He vaguely remembered wrapping himself around the other man last night and felt warmth flush his cheeks. It seemed he had less inhibitions while he was sleeping than while he was awake. But the Witcher hadn't left the bed or pushed him away. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd held him until he'd finally gotten up earlier. Jaskier bit his lip, remembering when he'd kissed him in Ard Carraigh. And then he sighed. What the hell was he going to do all winter in Kaer Morhen?

It wasn't the idea of being trapped inside with strangers for weeks. Or even with a bunch of Witchers. That didn't bother him. It was the thought that he'd be stuck there with a surly Geralt who was clearly in denial of what he wanted. What if he continued keeping Jaskier at arm's length? He supposed he'd find a way to pine quietly in silence. Jaskier immediately laughed, the sound tired and a little bitter. He knew himself better than that. He'd annoy the other man until he was forced to deal with him one way or another, for better or worse. But perhaps it wouldn't come to that. 

Sighing again, Jaskier got up and went downstairs to get something to eat. He had plans for today and a fresh infusion of cash to implement them. Wandering through town, he found someone to launder his clothes. He'd have them cleaned and he planned on a long, hot bath later that day. He traded his light cloak and a few coins for a thicker one lined with fur along the hood. The shop also had a serviceable pair of gloves that would keep his hands warm in the mountains. A few more purchases ensured that he wouldn't freeze on the way to the Witcher's Keep. 

He first noticed that he was being followed when a man passed by the market stall where he was looking at apples for Roach. It was the same man he'd seen earlier when he came out of the clothier's and again and the laundress' shop. Jaskier noticed two others that were also paying far too much attention to what he was doing. He recognized the two men that had walked out after hearing his ballad about Joanna last night. One of them was a mill worker that he and Geralt had talked to the day before. Jaskier tried to play it casual as he bought half a dozen apples and put them in his bag, but he felt his pulse quicken as the men started pacing him through the market. He'd have to stay in the open around other people. Letting himself be cornered in an alley or having them follow him back to the inn wasn't a good idea. And Geralt wasn't back yet.

As Jaskier tried to keep the mill worker in sight, someone came up from behind him and threw their arm around his shoulders.

“Good day, Master Bard,” he said quietly as he squeezed Jaskier to him. “Keep that empty smile on your face and come along.” 

“You know, I would love to, but I have an appointment to keep.” Jaskier sucked in a breath as he felt the prick of something sharp against his side. 

“You'll have to reschedule,” the man said as his voice lowered. “It wasn't a request.” He started steering Jaskier towards a side street leading away from the market. “If you'd just kept yer mouth shut and left town, it would've been fine.” 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Jaskier glanced around, but didn't see any of the guards anywhere. There had been three of them meandering around when he'd started shopping and they'd all disappeared. 

“Think you can sing your songs about things you don't understand.” 

Shit. He'd suggested to Geralt that there had been some shifty dealings yesterday when they were talking to people, but he just thought they were hiding something. He hadn't considered that Bertrand would send someone after him. They were just about to pass beyond the edge of the market when he heard a familiar voice.

“Jaskier! What a sight for sore eyes you are.” Yarpen and his Dwarven companions were heading towards them at a good clip with wide smiles on their faces and their hands casually close to their weapons. But the look in his eyes said he was aware of the trouble he was in. “How have you been, Laddie?”

“Oh, I've been better.” Jaskier winced as the knife pressed into his side. It had no doubt made a hole in his doublet. “This is real silk, you heathen,” he said, gaining confidence now that rescue was immanent. 

“I'd go about your business, Sir,” Yarpen said to the man carefully as he came to a stop in front of them.

“Unless you want to see his guts decorate the cobbles, you'll walk away.” Jaskier's captor was trying to sound tough but was having trouble as the Dwarves slowly surrounded them. “I'll call the guards and have them throw you non-human scum out.” The threat fell flat. It was obvious he didn't believe in the insult and was grabbing at straws.

“Listen, you cocksucker,” Yarpen growled, puffing up his chest and gripping the handle of his axe. “I've the known the captain of the guard since you were sucking at yer mam's teat. You can take yer idle threats and shove them up your arse. Now leave off before I decide to make an issue of it”

Jaskier took a chance and twisted away from the knife and out from under the man's arm. As the man reached out to try and grab him again, Yarpen kicked him hard in the shin, hitting the nerve there and making him tumble to the ground. The man held his leg and hissed in pain. 

“Be glad I'm not interested in stomping yer tiny brain into the cobbles,” Yarpen spat as he kicked the knife away and drew Jaskier closer. “Come on, Lad. You look like you need a drink.”

Jaskier blew out a long breath and glanced around the market. “He wasn't alone.”

“Aye. The other two buggered off when we showed up and saw you were in a spot of bother. What sort of trouble are you in now?”

“It's not my fault,” Jaskier huffed as they headed back toward the inn. “Well, actually this time it is, but not really. It was just a song.”

“Just a song, eh? Minstrels have been strung up for less.”

“I didn't think the miller would have minions,” Jaskier muttered. “And they wouldn't have dared if Geralt was here. I keep telling him I'm safer when I'm with him, but he's off looking into a job and probably won't be back until tonight.”

Yarpen said slapped Jaskier on the back. “Well, we'll just have to keep you company then. And in the meantime, you can tell us all about the shite that happened back in Yspaden. We missed all the fun.”


	23. Justice Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're keeping yourselves well, Dear Hearts. If you're struggling, know that you're not alone and remember that it's okay to be Not Okay. 
> 
> I've been a bit of a hormonal basket case lately and focus has been short supply. And then I downloaded Starbound this weekend and I spent every last moment playing instead of writing. But it's helping keep me sane, so that's good. And the writing will come around again, so I'm not overly worried there. It's just a bit frustrating. (Learning not to beat myself up about not meeting goals has been a bit of a process.)

It was late afternoon by the time Geralt arrived in the common room looking severely agitated. He zeroed in on Jaskier where he was surrounded by the Dwarves and his nostrils flared for a moment. Moving through the people who were coming in for an early evening meal, he held Jaskier's gaze as he stalked towards him. Jaskier took a long drink of his beer to steel himself. 

“Before you say anything, I'm fine,” he said as the Witcher came to a stop next to his chair. 

“You were bleeding,” Geralt growled, his voice low and strangely intense. He looked like he was trying to decide between punching Jaskier in the face and scooping him up to carry him away to safety. “I could smell your blood in the market.”

“It's fine. I'm fine.” When Geralt didn't say anything, Jaskier sighed. “It seems that Bertrand is back in town and he's not a fan of ballads.” And there had barely been any blood at all. The wound was just a small cut that was already healed. 

“Cowardly fuck,” Yarpen muttered as he downed the rest of his drink. “It's a pissin' shame about Joanna. She was a sweet lass. I've half a mind to go teach him some fucking manners myself.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes and sat in the seat on Jaskier's other side. “And you'd likely get yourself arrested.”

Yarpen snorted. “It'd be worth it. But now that you're here, me and the boys will be heading over to the guard house. Captain Llewellyn is an old friend of mine. He'll sort out this shite.” Yarpen turned to Jaskier. “Are you sure you won't come with us when we leave tomorrow? Vergen could use a decent bard.”

“Thanks, but I already have a previous engagement for the winter months this year.” Jaskier trusted the Dwarf, but with the way his life had been going, it was probably safer to keep his destination to himself for everyone's safety.

“Alright then, but we'll be back this evening. Warm up yer lute strings. We've a few more songs to teach you for the road.” Patting Jaskier on the back, Yarpen grabbed up his things and left with his crew In tow.

When they were alone at the table, Geralt fingered the small hole in the side of Jaskier's doublet. “I can't even leave you alone for a single day,” he muttered.

“It's hardly my fault. It doesn't seem to matter what I do. I get into trouble anyway.” Jaskier focused on the sensation of Geralt's fingers through the fabric of his clothes. The hole was small and he'd be able to repair it himself before sending them to be cleaned tonight. But if it kept going at this rate, his poor doublet was going to be more repairs than fabric. “Well. I need to go get ready for tonight.” Jaskier headed to the bar to order a bath before heading upstairs with Geralt following silently behind. 

“So tell me exactly what happened today,” Geralt said as the door closed behind them.

Jaskier gave him a brief rundown of what had happened in the market up to the point that Yarpen and his crew had shown up. “I'm glad he decided to head south for the winter. I didn't see any of the town guards in the market. It's like they disappeared.” 

“Probably bribed by someone.”

Jaskier paused as he was setting his lute down. “You think Yarpen will be okay going to talk to that captain friend of his?”

“This town is mildly more tolerant of non-humans than most. He'll be fine.”

“So they're just not fond of Witchers, then,” Jaskier said, remembering the way the guards at the gate had reacted to Geralt's arrival.

“There are no rules or guidelines for hatred and superstition. And there are far more scary stories of Witchers stealing children than myths about Dwarves.” Geralt shrugged. “I'm the monster parents threaten their children with to make them behave.”

“You're not a monster,” Jaskier said immediately, his voice hard. He wasn't going to listen to that garbage from other people and he certainly wasn't going to let Geralt say it about himself. The bath arrived before they could continue the conversation, and Jaskier gave a couple extra coins to the innkeeper's wife to have his clothes sent to be cleaned. He undressed and settled into the hot water before pulling out a bar of soap and letting the heat sink in. “So what did you do today? Do you have any ideas about what happened to Annie?”

Geralt grunted from where he sat in the chair by the bed. “She ran off with the trader. I found some love letters beneath the floor boards of the house. Apparently, they'd been seeing each other every time he passed through and thought the ruse would make her husband give her up for dead.”

“Why didn't she just leave him?” Jaskier shook his head and brought his cupped hands up to his face to rinse the soap away. “It seems like more trouble than it's worth.” 

“I believe she felt it would hurt less if her husband thought she was dead than learning she'd made him a cuckold.” Geralt's tone told Jaskier all he needed to know about how stupid he thought that was. 

“So no happy ending, then.”

“Endings that don't end in death are happy enough,” Geralt said, quietly. “Though they don't pay nearly as well.”

“He wasn't mad at you, was he?”

“No. But there was nothing for him to pay me for.” The Witcher leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “We should leave town tomorrow. Is there anything else you need before we head north? This is the largest settlement in the Wood between here and Kaer Morhen.” 

“No. I think I have almost everything. But if there's only small towns between here and there, I might need a couple more things.” He'd have to make sure his toiletry kit was stocked. Jaskier found that he'd become a bit spoiled in that area, but it's not like he indulged in anything else. If soaps and perfumes were his biggest vice, it wasn't that bad. “Do you need anything? I've still got money from last night and I'll be singing again tonight.”

“I'll need to buy some supplies before we leave.” Geralt gave him a dry look. “That's why I was in the market earlier. But I got a bit distracted by the trail of disaster that you seem to leave behind you.” 

“Really,” Jaskier huffed. “And you accuse me of being overly dramatic.” 

When Jaskier stepped out of the tub and dried himself off, he caught Geralt watching him. To distract himself from the flush he felt warming his skin, he gave him a wink. It was becoming easier to bypass the nerves with teasing than give in to embarrassment. Geralt just rolled his eyes and sighed before looking away. But not before something heated flashed in his gaze. Jaskier looked down at his left side where the other man's gaze had been focused. “It was barely a scratch. There isn't even a scar this time.”

“If only you could avoid the injuries to begin with. Where is the knife I gave you?”

“Hmm.” Jaskier thought back and tried to remember the last time he saw it. He below out a breath as it came back to him. “If it wasn't with my things when I reappeared in Yspaden, then I believe that your friend Yennefer has it.” 

Geralt frowned in confusion. “Why would she have it?”

“Because apparently, she felt disinclined to give it back after she threatened to cut off my dick with it.” Jaskier's tone was clipped. He was more insulted than scared now that his brief encounter with the sorceress was behind him.

Geralt growled low in his throat before he calmed himself, but it wasn't clear if he was annoyed that Jaskier had lost the dagger or that he'd been threatened. “We'll get you a new one tomorrow.”

“Why, so I can lose that one too?” Jaskier slipped into a clean chemise, smoothing the fabric down his chest before pulling on the silvery gray trousers. 

“I don't like the thought of you traveling unarmed.”

“I believe the universe is trying to tell me I shouldn't have a knife.” When the Witcher frowned, Jaskier snatched up his boots and sat on the bed irritably. “Honestly, Geralt. A weapon is most likely going to be taken away and used against me anyway. I have no interest in threatening people, let alone attempting to actually use a blade on them.”

“You're going to have to learn to defend yourself somehow,” Geralt said, his irritation nearly palatable. “There will come a day when no one is going to come to your rescue.”

“It's worked out so far. Maybe Destiny has plans that don't include my demise.” Jaskier knew the other man was right but certainly wasn't going to say so.

“You're going to rely on Destiny to save your ass every time you get in trouble?”

“Of course not.” Jaskier shoved his foot into his boot and stood to tuck his chemise into his trousers, settling the ties so everything fit comfortably. He turned to look at Geralt, putting an impatient hand on his hip. “I'm not going to blindly trust the universe to take care of me. But things happen no matter how much I try to avoid them.”

“Singing a provocative song that promises retribution doesn't really strike me as the best way to avoid trouble. You'll have to try harder than that.”

Jaskier opened his mouth and closed it again, knowing that he didn't have an answer for that one. He went over and snatched up his doublet before shrugging into it and settling the fabric along his shoulders. He sighed softly as he let his brief brush of anger drain away. “I don't like the thought that Joanna won't receive proper justice.”

“Getting yourself kidnapped and murdered by making a nuisance of yourself won't help her.” 

“It flushed out some of the people involved. I'll recognize them should the need arise for identification.” 

“We won't be here long enough for an investigation,” Geralt said, getting to his feet. 

“I could refuse to leave until it's closed.” Jaskier braced himself for a threat and wasn't disappointed. The Witcher stood slowly and moved into his space, standing close enough so Jaskier could feel the heat of his body against his freshly washed skin. 

“Then I'll just knock you out and carry you to Kaer Morhen.” His breath ghosted across Jaskier's face. “Your life is far more important to me than tying off loose ends after a hunt.” A strange look crossed Geralt's face and he abruptly brushed past Jaskier to leave the room. Jaskier was left with his heart fluttering softly in his chest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yup. Definitely some denial there. 

“Well, fuck,” he muttered to the empty room.

Down in the common room, people were packing themselves in. Apparently word of last night's performance had spread and the people wanted more. Jaskier felt a small smile curl his lips as he felt the anticipation in the air. He saw the innkeeper salute him with a mug with a huge grin on his face. Business was good. Geralt was a dark little cloud of brooding irritation in the corner, but while the people sitting closest tried to give him some space, the rest paid him no mind. Jaskier didn't intend to press his buttons tonight, but when he raised his lute, several people called out for him to play 'Midday Maiden' again. Not one to disappoint his audience, Jaskier complied, putting his heart into the song.

In the middle of the second chorus, Yarpen came in with a man in a guard uniform. His blonde hair was cut short and clean, and his gray eyes scanned the crowd with professional efficiency before settling on Jaskier. He watched him for a moment before ordering drinks. He and Yarpen went over to Geralt who was sitting by himself. Jaskier continued playing for a while, adding in some drinking songs and some other titles that were more upbeat. By the time he'd finished his first set, the crowd was lively and cheering with abandon. He promised to return after a brief break and grabbed a drink that was handed to him by the barmaid before joining Geralt and Yarpen.

“This here is captain Llewellyn,” Yarpen said. “We had a lovely chat earlier.”

“Please to meet you, Captain,” Jaskier said, offering his hand. The captain took it with a firm grip and eyed him thoughtfully.

“I thought Yarpen was blowing smoke up my ass with the way he was talking about your music, but you certainly live up to the hype.” 

“Kind of you to say so,” Jaskier said, unsure of where the conversation might lead. He opened his mouth to ask about his talk with Yarpen but the captain just shook his head. 

“I'm just here for a friendly drink with friends.” He took a deliberate sip of his beer and lowered his voice. “But if you'd be so kind, please come by the guardhouse tomorrow morning.”

Jaskier just nodded and the other man drained his beer before thanking Yarpen for the drink and leaving. Jaskier wasn't sure what he expected so it was hard to be disappointed. 

“Don't you worry, Lad. Llewellyn's a good man, better than most and a better friend than I could have asked for. Went on a couple hunts with us before he settled down here.” 

“I'm not worried. A friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Jaskier said easily, taking a sip of his beer. “Though I wished he had stayed for more than a moment.”

“He'll answer your questions in the morning.” Yarpen raised his drink. “Until then, how about another jaunty tune to pass the time.” 

Jaskier laughed and took one last drink before raising his lute again and standing to address the crowd. They cheered and raised their mugs, pounding their fists on the table for more music. Jaskier complied with pleasure, singing long into the night and adding to his growing repertoire as suggestions rang out and the crowd joined along. When he retired to their room, he had a delightfully fat purse and a request from the innkeeper to stay a few more nights. He politely declined the offer but promised to visit the next time he passed through the area. 

*******

The next morning, Yarpen and his men headed out before first light while Jaskier and Geralt stayed in to eat breakfast before going to the guardhouse. After that, they planned to visit the market for supplies before moving out themselves. At the guardhouse, the man who opened the door for them was one of the ones who'd glared at Geralt when they first arrived. His lips thinned, but he stepped grudgingly aside to let them enter. 

“Pull that stick out of your ass, Dabney and get to the gate to relieve Anders.” Captain Llewellyn was standing in the door to his office while giving the man at the door a dry look.

Dabney looked sullen but said nothing as he grabbed his pike and went out the door.

“Don't mind him,” Llewellyn said as he gestured for them to come inside and have a seat. When he closed the door and sat behind his desk, he took a breath and let it out slowly. “Please allow me to offer my sincere apologies for what happened in the marketplace yesterday. It seems a couple of my men sought to pad their wallets by taking requests for services, or lack of services as the case may be.”

Jaskier swallowed. He thought Geralt had been overly pessimistic when he'd suggested that the guards had been bribed, but apparently he'd been right. 

“Do you know who paid them?” Geralt asked. His tone was light, but Jaskier could hear the carefully controlled anger beneath. 

“We do, and they're being pursued by the law accordingly.” The warning was clear, but the captain's voice was calm. It softened as he looked at Jaskier. “We've also apprehended Joanna's killer.”

Jaskier leaned forward. “So you've arrested Bertrand?” 

“No.” Llewellyn's expression darkened. “He's only guilty of pressuring the young woman to marry him by threatening to have her mother cast out of the weaver's guild. Distasteful, certainly, but not technically illegal. It seems her lover, Renlo, killed her accidentally when they fought about her impending marriage. When she tried to storm out, he caught her hand and when she pulled away, she tripped and hit her head on the hearth. Such a waste,” he said sadly. “But instead of coming to me for help, Renlo and his friends tried to cover up Joanna's death. He confessed immediately when we were investigating the bribery.” 

Jaskier frowned. “But one of the miller's workers tried to stab me yesterday.”

“He's a friend of Renlo's that got nervous after he heard you sing. It seems your song made him think that you knew what happened that night. You'll have to be more careful in the future. While you may have helped uncover the truth, it's hard telling what might have happened if Yarpen hadn't arrived when he did.” He turned to Geralt. “You have my personal thanks for taking care of the Wraith. It was causing a lot of problems. Has Bertrand compensated you for the work?”

“Joanna's mother paid me.” 

Llewellyn sighed softly. “I haven't been able to find her.”

“I think she left town,” Jaskier said. “She got up from her loom and just walked away.” 

“I hope she finds peace,” the captain said gravely. “Joanna was her only child and she just lost her husband last year to a fever. Head over to Bertrand's mill anyway. He owes you and I'll make sure he compensates you properly.”

Geralt shook his head. “I don't take payment twice for the same job.”

Llewellyn regarded the Witcher thoughtfully for a moment. “I'll be honest. I've only heard stories of Witchers and never met one in person before. You're not what I expected.”

“You shouldn't believe everything you hear in stories. They're often exaggerated.” 

Jaskier refused to rise to the obvious bait. “Is there anything else you need from us? We're leaving town today.”

“No. I just wanted to inform you of what happened in relative privacy.” Rising, Llewellyn held out his hand to Geralt. “I'm glad to have met you. You'll be welcome in Gelibol as long as I have any say.” 

Geralt shook his hand and and nodded before they left and headed out into the market to prepare for their journey. Jaskier thought about how he'd been wrong about Bertrand. What if his song had led to an innocent man getting punished? He started adjusting the lyrics of the song in his head and planned to be a little more careful in the future, as he'd been advised.


	24. Head Over Heels

Jaskier sat on a rock looking at his reflection in a still pool of water at the edge of the stream beside their camp. He tried to imagine what he'd look like as an Elf with finer features and pointed ears. Running the tips of his fingers over the edge of his left ear, he closed his eyes and turned his attention inward. But all he felt was the human body he thought he'd been born with. Just as with all his attempts to use his magic with intent, it was nowhere to be found when he actively wanted it. Looking down into the water, he trailed his fingers along the surface so his face blurred into a semblance of a person with no discernible features at all.

“Geralt?” 

“Hn.” 

“What if I can't figure out how to use my magic?”

Geralt looked over and frowned at him from where he was securing Roach's saddlebags. “You've been using it.”

“No. I mean, using it actively.”

“Every time you sing, you are actively using your magic.”

“You say active. I say accidental. I keep telling everyone that it just happens, but nobody seems to be listening. I'm not doing anything. There's no goal or action that I'm trying to complete. It's just music.”

“Hn.” Geralt snorted. “I thought you'd start spouting off that music could be magical.”

“Forget it.” Jaskier suddenly had no patience for jesting and he got up to go secure his pack with sullen, jerky movements. He could hear Geralt huff a short breath somewhere off to his left but he didn't look at him. They walked back out to the road and started off again without speaking. It had been three days since they'd left Gelibol and it had left Jaskier with far too much time to think. Neither one of them broke the silence again until sometime later. 

“What's the point when you perform?” Geralt asked him suddenly.

Jaskier looked up at him from where he walked at Roach's side, idly strumming the lute. “What do you mean, what's the point?”

“You do it for a reason. What's the goal? Why do you sing for others?”

Jaskier sighed softly and considered what to say. “To entertain people. To make them feel something and elicit emotions with a few words and a melody.”

“There's your intent,” Geralt told him, his eyes on the road ahead. “Every time your fingers touch the lute strings, I feel your magic, even when you're not playing a song.”

“What about when I'm singing?”

Geralt looked down at him with an unreadable expression for a moment before turning his gaze back to the road. “It's like your magic is touching mine,” he murmured. His voice was so quite, Jaskier was fairly certain he hadn't meant to say that out loud. The silence lingered before Geralt spoke again. “Your words undoubtedly affect your audience, but it's probably only on a surface level. I doubt they notice it beyond their enjoyment of the music.” 

“That's not really what I meant about active use.”

“You said that singing calms you down. I know it's healed you, even if you didn't know you were doing it at the time. What do want, exactly?”

Well that was certainly a complicated answer. “It's just not what I expected magic to be.”

“Magic is controlled chaos. It's part of the world around us and certain people can tap into it's potential to mold it to their will.”

“That sounds like it came out of some old textbook.”

“Most of the books in Kaer Morhen are old. I had to learn enough about magic so I wouldn't set myself on fire learning Witcher signs.”

“Has that actually happened?”

“I've never done it, but it's happened more than once to those who have no control.” Geralt's mouth quirked up in a small smirk like he was recalling a fond memory.

“I wish there was someone who could actually teach me more about this.”

“If Vesemir doesn't know anything, he might be able to send us to someone who has more knowledge.”

“How old is he? Filavandrel said there's nobody alive with this kind of magic.”

“He's never said exactly, but he was one of the first Witchers made. We figure he was born just after the Conjunction.”

Jaskier whistled softly. “I didn't think humans could live that long.”

“Witchers aren't human,” Geralt said with a the patient tone of someone who was tired of repeating themselves.

“Well, you used to be, right?”

“That's irrelevant. The mutations change so much that we're not what we used to be before the Trials.” Geralt's lips thinned. 

“How old are _you_?”

The Witcher looked over at him for a moment before looking away again. “Older than you.”

Jaskier walked on in silence for a while, letting the other man settle. The expression on his face was the same one he had when he'd told Rory he didn't want to be a Witcher. Whatever unpleasantness was required for the Trials, he didn't seem to enjoy remembering it. 

“Filavandrel said I was changing myself back to being an Elf. But I still look the same.”

“The changes are probably on the inside,” Geralt said. “Do you see yourself as an Elf?”

“No. I always thought I was human.” Jaskier considered the image of himself he carried in his head and the reflection he'd been looking at earlier. “Does that make a difference?”

“Magic works with the intent of the caster.”

Jaskier didn't bother reiterating the earlier part of their conversation when he was telling him that he wasn't actively using his magic. “And?”

“I doubt you're going to give yourself Elven features if you don't see yourself as an Elf.” Geralt sighed. “It's probably better that way. You're going to have a hard enough time traveling as it is. Bards are not universally loved. Adding racist prejudice based on your appearance will just make your life needlessly difficult.”

Jaskier wasn't sure how he felt about hiding his heritage just to make his life easier. But how much of his identity was tied to his appearance? Would he still feel like himself if he changed the way he looked? Did he even want to change his face? Not really, he decided. When he was younger, It had taken him a long time to become truly comfortable with himself. He wasn't ready to change that. 

*******

They continued traveling for two more days, skirting around the outside edge of the farms surrounding Ard Carraigh and moving north of the city into a thickly wooded area. It wasn't nearly as dark or dense as the forest to the south, but it was old. The trees rose up high and spread over the foothills towards the mountains in the far distance. Jaskier crouched down next to a moss covered tree to pluck one of the mushrooms that grew in the shade. 

“Hey, are there any rabbits around?”

Geralt glanced around with his nostrils flaring. “Probably.” He gave Jaskier a dry look. “Is this your way of asking me to hunt for something?”

“If you would be so kind,” Jaskier said graciously. He held up the mushroom. “We're having stew tonight.” 

He followed Geralt to a small clearing where they set up a quick camp before separating to gather things so they could settle in for the night. It was a routine that was slowly solidifying as they spent more time together. When possible, they'd gather things to eat or trade for goods in settlements, saving their stores for when they couldn't find anything at all. Geralt went out with his crossbow and Jaskier headed into the trees to get some wood. They would only need enough for cooking. It wasn't nearly as cold today since autumn seemed to have retreated as if summer were trying to reestablish itself. He'd also keep an eye out for anything else he could toss in the pot. They still had a couple of carrots they'd traded for at the last farm they passed, but if he could spot some herbs or maybe some tubers, that would be even better.

After piling up wood in the spot set aside for the fire pit, Jaskier grabbed a cloth sack from his pack and headed back out into the trees while there was still enough light to see by. He sang as he searched, his voice trailing out under the branches. Along with more mushrooms, he found some thin stalks of wild asparagus as well as a couple day lilies that he'd pulled up for the tubers. Jaskier was thankful for his time with Balen as he put them all in his sack. He planned to wash his finds in the small stream he'd passed between here and their camp, but he caught sight of one last thing he wanted. There was a small cluster of blueberry bushes a few feet away tucked in among the ferns at the edge of a deep ravine. They would top off the evening nicely. 

But as he stepped forward, he realized too late that the edge of the ravine was much closer than it appeared. The lip of the chasm had been obscured by ground cover that was much taller than the bushes he'd been standing in. As his foot kept going past the point he thought he'd step onto solid ground, Jaskier felt himself tipping forward over the edge. It was almost as if time slowed to give him a moment to truly regret his decision before he was tumbling forward and down. The sack flew out of his hand as he desperately reached out to catch himself, but his fingers only grasped empty air. He was too startled to even shout before the wind was knocked out of him when he hit the steep, rocky embankment and kept rolling painfully downward. 

The world spun and Jaskier became dazed when his head clipped something hard on the way down, but he had enough awareness to hear the terrible snapping sound of the bones in right wrist breaking. When he finally landed, it took a moment for Jaskier's mind to catch up with the rest of him. Every part of him hurt and his left side was now submerged in cold, running water. There was something broken inside his chest that felt far worse than when Toruviel had kicked him. He blearily recalled hitting a tree somewhere on the way down. It made breathing difficult and painful. He couldn't even begin to think about getting up.

Jaskier lay dazed for a bit, trying to gather the strength to move. When he drew a breath to call for Geralt, it whistled in his throat, making him cough. A thin whine escaped him as the movement of coughing jarred him and his eyes glazed over with pain. He may have blacked out because the next thing he was aware of was that his left side was starting to go numb from the cold. He shivered which made him hurt more. There was also a steadily growing pounding that seemed to shake the ground. He wasn't sure if it was in his head or not. 

“Why no singsong more?” A gravely voice much deeper than Geralt's vibrated along Jaskier's aching bones. All he could do was groan and shift where he lay. “Hmm. Broke down hurtses?” the voice asked. 

Jaskier looked up and saw what appeared to be a large rock blinking down at him. It crouched and shifted closer to peer into his face. “If Bodger fix, singsong more?”

“Wha-?” Jaskier tried to sit up or at least pull himself out of the water, but only managed to huff weakly.

The rock started crooning. Huge, rocky arms slid under Jaskier's body, making him gasp as he was lifted and cradled in a hard, but strangely gentle grip. His vision wavered as the pain made him black out again. He heard the deep voice mutter as his consciousness faded. 

“Bodger fix. Pretty Humes sleepses now.” 

*******

Jaskier stood in an ancient forest that was far older than anywhere he'd ever been before. It seemed to be breathing around him, the looming trees shifting in and out with each breath like they were alive and aware. Shadows darted in between the thick trunks. Some were female, some wore hulking black armor. He thought he saw a flash of white hair and and he ran after it. But no matter how fast he ran, he never seemed to get any closer. Some part of his mind acknowledged that he must be dreaming, but he ignored it as he ran after Geralt, trying to catch up with him. He couldn't let himself be left behind again. 

But as he finally started to get closer, he saw that it wasn't the Witcher that he was chasing. It was a little girl with pale, ashen hair in a torn dress. A sharp, frightened sob echoed through the trees as she ran, her terror growing with each step. 

“Wait!” Jaskier called out to her as he reached out his hand. She stopped suddenly and ducked behind a tree. He could hear her frightened breathing. “It's alright,” he said softly as he slowed to a stop a few yards away. “I won't hurt you.” He found his lute in his hand and put his fingers to the strings. Jaskier started to sing the calming song he'd sung to the Elves about love and safety. A tingling started in his chest that he now recognized as the sensation of healing. He kept singing, but somehow he knew that she couldn't hear him yet. 

Jaskier changed the melody, desperately trying to shift his music so she'd be able to listen to his song. The tingling shifted to become more pronounced as it spread through his whole body. It made him wince and his wrist started hurting, but he kept playing through the pain, determined to get through to her. Finally, she peered out from behind the tree. Her disheveled ashen hair framed her fair face and green eyes gazed at him with wariness.

“Who are you?” she asked him. There was a cautious hope in her voice.

“I'm Jaskier,” he said with a smile, putting a hand on his chest as he swept into a bow. “At your service, My Lady.” 

She started to relax and a small smile spread across her face. But then her eyes widened suddenly and she pointed behind him. Jaskier whirled around to see what had startled her and woke up.

******* 

Jaskier awoke with a gasp, his voice catching in his dry throat. But his eyes seemed too heavy to open. 

“Easy.” 

A gentle hand was laid on Jaskier's chest keeping him from sitting up. He could have cried at the sound of Geralt's voice. A water skin was held up to his mouth and he took a few small sips, licking his lips as a few stray drops dribbled down his chin.

“The girl in the woods,” Jaskier murmured. With his eyes still closed, he missed the startled expression on Geralt's face.

“What about her?” he asked cautiously. 

“Need to find her.” Jaskier's voice was slurred with fatigue. “Need her to hear.” His head slumped to the side as he sighed. His ribs were no longer on fire but his whole body felt flushed, like he had a fever and his muscles felt oddly stretched. As Geralt's fingers trailed over the edge of his ear and he hissed. “Hurts.” 

“You fell.” Geralt's voice was barely a whisper, his gravely tone subdued. He almost sounded scared. 

“Hmm.” Jaskier hummed, feeling too tired to say anything. He reached up and fumbled at his chest looking for Geralt's hand until strong fingers gripped his. 

“Pretty Humes singsong?” The deep gravelly voice inquired from somewhere to his left.

“He's hurt, Bodger,” Geralt said, his voice gentle. “He needs to sleep so he can heal.”

“But Bodger fixes.” 

“Yes, you did a good job. You helped Jaskier until I could get here. But now he needs to sleep.” 

“Yazzer sleepses, then singsong?” The gravely voice sounded sad, like a child hoping for something that might not come.

“Yes. I'm sure he'll sing for you when he wakes up again.” 

Jaskier's brows furrowed. “Concussion?” If he'd hit his head, shouldn't he stay awake?

“Probably,” Geralt sighed. “But every time you sleep, more of the bruises fade.” Gentle fingers slid along Jaskier's wrist. “Your wrist was broken when I got here, but it's mostly healed now.”

Jaskier hummed an acknowledgment, his tired voice echoing in what must be some sort of cave. He could hear water dripping and light was flickering against his closed eyelids. The gravely voice started humming. It was horribly out of tune but what it lacked in tone, it made up for in enthusiasm. Jaskier smiled as he drifted off to sleep again with his hand still held in Geralt's fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, dunnnnnn. . . I'm so glad the cliffhangers keep falling on Wednesdays. I'd hate to leave things hanging over the weekends.
> 
> Also, Rock Trolls are my favorite Witcher monster and I always try to avoid killing them in the game. Bart is by far my favorite out of all of them.


	25. New Fendy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you dear readers. It's been a pleasure sharing this story with you.

Jaskier spent the next while sleeping, only waking to drink a few sips of water before sliding into unconsciousness again. His body kept switching between feeling feverish and chilled, alternately sweating and shivering. Geralt placed cool compresses on his forehead when he needed it, and answered his mumbled questions about where he was and what had happened. Jaskier was having trouble remembering. He didn't dream about the girl again or anything else that he could remember. 

When Jaskier was finally able to open his eyes, he saw that they were in a wide cave. The small fire had burned down to embers offering little light, but he could see fairly well in the dark for some reason. Turning his head, Jaskier saw Geralt laying at his side. The Witcher was frowning in his sleep, but his body was relaxed. Jaskier reached out and brushed a strand of hair away of his forehead as he watched him. It was rare for the other man to sleep while Jaskier was up and moving around. He must have been truly exhausted to sleep instead of meditate. Sitting up carefully, Jaskier smoothed his hands over the front of his chemise and took stock of his body. He didn't hurt anywhere and an experimental turn of his wrist told him it had fully healed and he had full range of motion again. But his clothes were a disaster. 

There was a tear along the left knee of his trousers that was stained with old blood. He was almost afraid to see what had happened to his doublet. He picked it up carefully, examining the stitching with dismay. The blue fabric was frayed and torn, the right sleeve hanging by a strip of fabric and a few tattered threads. Every part of him was dirt scuffed and smeared with mud and water stains wavered along the entire left side of his garments. Jaskier sighed. Elihal's skills might have been able to bring them back to life, but this was far beyond his own abilities. So stupid. Falling off the edge of a damn cliff in the woods. With the exception of nearly being hung, this was probably the closest he'd physically come to dying since he'd entered the Wood. And once again, he'd been rescued. He looked over as a large shadow detached itself from the wall and came over to crouch down next to him.

“Yazzer wake now?”

“Yes, it appears I'm awake for real now.” Jaskier had read about Rock Trolls but had never seen one before. He looked up at the craggy rock of the Troll's face, seeing intelligence and curiosity. It's head was turned inquisitively as it blinked at him. It seemed friendly and if Geralt wasn't worried about it, he wasn't going to be. He remembered being lifted in its arms. If it hadn't pulled him out of the water, things might have gone really badly. 

“Thank you, my friend,” he said.

“Yazzer and Bodger fendy?” It sounded surprised.

“Of course.” 

The troll bounced on its rocky knees like an excited toddler. “Yazzer singsong?” 

“Maybe in a little while.” He looked down at Geralt who appeared to be asleep, but there was a small curl to his lips that told Jaskier he was awake and aware.

“Hmm. Gurt be sleepses.” The gravely, hushed voice of his rescuer echoed in the cave far more loudly than a human whisper. 

Jaskier picked up the water skin at his side and took a drink. He felt the cool water slide all the way down into his nearly empty stomach. He was starving and he grabbed the apple and cheese that had been sitting next to the water skin, forcing himself to eat it slowly even though he wanted to scarf it down. He had no idea how long he'd been sleeping. He looked up at the hulking shape squatting beside them. 

“Do you live here by yourself?” Jaskier asked the Troll.

“Bodger mate no.” His craggy face contorted into something resembling a frown. “Humeses scardey. Run away.” He looked imploringly at Jaskier. “Bodger make scareses?”

Jaskier smiled up at him. “No, Bodger. You're not scary. Some people just don't understand things that are different.”

“Yazzer not scardey?”

“No,” Jaskier told him, keeping his tone reassuring. How could anyone be afraid of something so adorable? Picking up the lute case from where it lay on his other side, Jaskier pulled out the instrument and strummed a few cords. Bodger settled on his haunches, his attention rapt. Jaskier sang of the patience of rock and the strength of stone. He wasn't quite sure the Troll understood what he was saying exactly, but he seemed to enjoy the sound at least. 

“Yazzer singsong pretty,” Bodger rumbled happily when he finished.

“Thank you.” Jaskier gave him a small bow from where he sat. Geralt gave up feigning sleep to sit up and move closer to him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Different,” Jaskier said after a moment. He stilled as Geralt cupped his chin and looked him in they eye. But the other man didn't say anything as his thumb swiped gently over Jaskier's lips before releasing him. 

“Can you stand?” 

“Yeah,” he said. Jaskier put the lute away and flexed his muscles carefully, standing with no problems. There was a strange elasticity to his limbs that allowed him to rise up easily. He was surprised that he didn't feel worn out or weak after being convalescent after his fall. He distinctly remembered having a fever and he hadn't eaten enough recently to feel this strong. He wondered if this had anything to do with his magic. “Urg. I need a bath.” He felt filthy. 

“Yazzer come. Bodger show splashun pool.” The Troll stood and headed toward a dark opening in the far wall of the cave. 

Jaskier shot Geralt a look and the Witcher just shrugged. 

“There's a hot spring deeper in the caves.” Geralt picked up their packs and gestured towards the dark opening. Jaskier frowned as he followed the other man. The details of the cave were clear and he had no trouble placing his feet carefully among the rocks on the stone floor. It should have been pitch black for him. A soft blue-green glow started growing as they moved further down the passage and Jaskier started to see tufts of glowing moss along the walls. Long tendrils hung down from the ceiling with flowering seed pods that gave off a dim light. It was pretty. 

The air started to grow warmer and more humid and the sound of running water grew louder. They stepped out into a wide cavern filled with steaming pools of water. Over along the right side of the cave, a small waterfall fell over a lip of rock into a pool below before flowing away deeper into the shadows. Bodger sank into the largest pool with a happy hum that sounded like rocks tumbling down a hillside.

“Splashun pool hotses.” 

Jaskier wasted no time in stripping and stepping under the flowing water. The waterfall was cold and he scrubbed himself as quickly as possible, wincing as his fingers caught in his hair. The left side was matted and stuck together with dried blood. He must have looked like a bloody mess when Geralt arrived. But aside from patches of dried blood, there was no sign of the cuts and bruises he must have had. When he felt clean, he settled in one of the shallower pools of steaming water. Heat sank into his muscles and he sighed. 

“Where's Roach?” Jaskier asked as he leaned back against the smooth lip of rock.

“At the mouth of the cave. She's fine.” Geralt shucked his clothes and washed briefly before joining him. His eyes settled on Jaskier and watched him steadily as if he'd disappear if he looked away.

“You're staring,” Jaskier said. “What are you thinking about?”

“That I should dump you in the next village I see and move on.”

Jaskier swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say as a cold feeling settled in his gut. After all this, that's all the fucker had to say. His lips thinned as an angry retort danced on the edge of his tongue, but he was distracted by a rocky growl.

“Gurt be dumm,” Bodger muttered angrily.

“I agree.” Jaskier settled deeper into the water so it lapped at his chin as he glared at the other man. “Geralt is incredibly dumb.” 

Geralt curled his lip. “You asked what I was thinking. I told you the truth. If you're going to let your feelings get hurt every time I'm honest with you, you'll be better off on your own.” 

There was a hard edge to his words that Jaskier had heard before and he found himself relaxing despite his initial recoil. To anyone else, the Witcher would have sounded angry and dismissive. And on the surface, he was. But Jaskier's ear picked up the nuance underneath and he recognized the sound. He'd heard it before this, but only once or twice. Is was hidden under a layer of control, but Geralt was afraid. Jaskier thought for a moment and realized that this was probably the first time the Witcher had actually been with him while he was injured. With the exception of the Warg bite, Jaskier had usually healed himself by the time Geralt showed up when he was in trouble. Was he suddenly worried about Jaskier's mortality? 

“You can stop worrying,” Jaskier sighed. “Apparently, I'm hard to kill.” There was a snort from the other man and Geralt looked away, the muscles in his jaw clenching. He took a breath to speak but just blew it out again slowly as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was several tense moments before he said anything.

“One day you will break so badly, you won't be able to heal yourself.”

“I'm managing pretty well, considering I have no idea what I'm doing.” Jaskier paddled his fingers on the surface of the water, making ripples spread out along the surface. “And I've done it twice now while unconscious.”

“That's because you sing in your sleep,” Geralt muttered.” It was hard to tell if that fact annoyed or pleased him.

“Oh. Well. Then there's even less reason for you to worry. Really, Geralt. I-”

“You almost died!” Geralt snapped. Jaskier stilled his fingers as the Witcher's voice echoed off the cave walls. He felt himself calming even as Geralt seemed to be getting more agitated.

“We all have to die eventually,” Jaskier said quietly. “Getting angry because you're afraid isn't going to do anything.” 

“I do not feel fear.”

“Fsshh.” Bodger hissed out a breath that sounded like steam escaping. “Buh-shit.”

They both looked at the Troll that had submerged itself so that only his eyes and the top of his rocky head poked out of the water. Bodger blinked at them passively before blowing out another breath that created bubbles in the water. If he'd had lips on his rocky face, he would have been blowing a raspberry.

“Bodger hungie. Feastie make.” With that, the troll got up out of the water and lumbered out of the cave back toward the way they'd come in, leaving a trail of dripping spring water in his wake.

Jaskier rubbed his fingertips together and felt them starting to prune. He got out of the pool and slicked as much of the water off his skin as possible before digging his only towel out of his bag. It was by far, one of the best purchases he'd made, especially since it was getting colder. Letting his body air dry was out of the question this time of year. He pulled on the silvery outfit and bemoaned the loss of the blue one. One of his first major investments would have to be an update to his wardrobe. 

He heard the quiet splash of Geralt leaving the pool. The Witcher dressed and left the cave silently without saying anything and when Jaskier came out into the main part of the cave by the fire pit, there was no one there. He wasn't sure where either of his companions had gone, so he set about building up the fire with wood that had been stacked by the wall. Jaskier had no idea what a Troll considered a feast, but he hoped it was something edible for humans. Or Elves, Jaskier corrected himself. For the first time since waking, he reached up to feel the tip of his ear. But like always, all he felt was smooth skin and cartilage. Sighing with a strange amount of disappointment, he settled down with his lute and started to play.

Sometime later, he heard raised voices from outside and he got up to follow the sound. He came out into a small clearing among the trees. Roach was nibbling placidly at the grass ignoring the pair that were arguing a few feet away from her. Bodger was glaring at Geralt with the limp carcass of a partially cleaned deer held in one hand. 

“If Gurt no protec Yazzer, Bodger smash dum Witcha.” When Bodger saw Jaskier, he turned so his body hid the deer. “Inside go. Yazzer squick.”

Jaskier's mouth quirked up. Geralt must have told him that Jaskier wasn't overly fond of cleaning game. He could do it if he had to, but not if he had any other choice. The fact that Bodger wanted to spare him from the sight made him smile. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Geralt handed him the camp kit that held their cooking supplies and the sack Jaskier had dropped when all of this had started. He peered inside and saw that the herbs were fresh, so Geralt must have replaced them. But the mushrooms and day lily tubers were still good. The asparagus was a little limp but still edible. Added to that were a carrot and potato along with a smaller pouch that made Jaskier sigh. It was full of blueberries. He must have found the point where Jaskier had gone tumbling over the edge. Geralt held his gaze for a long, lingering moment before turning back to Roach and rummaging around the saddle bags. Jaskier figured he didn't really need anything and he was just using it as a distraction so he wouldn't have to say anything. Taking the sack and kit, Jaskier went back inside and started getting ready to make stew. 

When Bodger came in with the cleaned deer, he sneered at the vegetables. 

“Roots and weeds not feastie,” he grumped as he set large parts of the deer up on an improvised spit. It seemed he was still annoyed with Geralt, who hadn't come in yet. Jaskier chuckled and tossed a few slices of carrots into the pot before taking the piece of venison Bodger handed him.

“Humans need more than meat,” Jaskier told him as he started cutting the meat and salting it. When he tossed the pieces into the hot pan sitting in the coals, they sizzled nicely, releasing the smell of cooked meat and making Jaskier's mouth water. Bodger hamrumphed and turned to him.

“Yazzer not humes. Yazzier Elfses.” 

“Right,” Jaskier admitted sheepishly. “Sorry. That's new.”

“Hmm. Jazzier stink changen. Humes now Elfses.” The Troll made a sudden sputtering sound and leaned down toward Jaskier, his rocky expression strangely intense. “Gurt hate Elfses?” 

“No, no, no. Geralt does not hate Elves. And he knows what I am. He doesn't care about that.” Jaskier was quick to reassure him, worried that the Troll would do something dangerous if he got truly angry with Geralt.

“Then why Gurt angry dum?” Bodger seemed utterly confused. “Yazzier Gurt mate.”

Jaskier blinked at him for a moment while his brain rifled through the meanings of the word mate and what the Troll might mean. His simplistic speech had been easy enough to understand so far, but he didn't want any misunderstandings. Bodger had answered Jaskier's question about living here alone by referring to himself as not having a mate. Did the Troll think he and Geralt were a mated pair?

“He worries when I'm hurt,” Jaskier said carefully. The Troll blew out another rocky raspberry, his tone indicating that fact was obvious. “And he thinks I get hurt because I'm with him.”

“Trueness?”

“No. I get hurt because things happen no matter what either one of us does.”

Bodger nodded sagely and turned the deer on the spit. “Gurt scardey.”

“Yeah. He's scared that someday I'll be gone and he'll be alone again,” Jaskier said as he washed his hands in the bucket he'd found and filled with clean water earlier. When Geralt left Jaskier behind back in Ard Carraigh, he'd kissed him soundly. And then he'd told Jaskier that he couldn't afford this before leaving. In this new context, it made a lot more sense, even if it had still been stupid.

“Yazzer likeses Gurt?”

Jaskier smiled fondly and sighed. “Yes. I like Geralt very much.” 

They sat in companionable silence for a while as the food cooked. Jaskier pulled out his lute and started singing one of the half finished songs he'd started about Geralt. It was full of descriptions of white hair and golden eyes and it told a story of The White Wolf who prowled the Continent protecting the innocent. It wasn't finished yet and it still needed a little finessing before it was ready for public performance, but the core ideas and melodies hadn't changed. Even though Jaskier couldn't hear or see him, he was aware of Geralt lingering in the mouth of the cave and knew that he was listening. The Witcher didn't show himself until after the last note trailed off into shadows of the cave. Bodger grunted when he saw him.

“Woflen pack travel. Lonely wolfen dum,” the Troll grumbled.

Geralt gave Bodger a flat look before settling next to the fire beside Jaskier. “An interesting choice in confidants,” he said.

Jaskier sniffed disdainfully. “Bodger is an excellent listener. Unlike some dickheads I could mention.” 

Bodger snickered. “Dickhead Gurt.”

Jaskier laughed suddenly and loudly in surprise and couldn't seem to stop. It only got worse when Geralt's frown deepened. Of all the words Bodger could have pronounced perfectly, of course it would be that one. When Jaskier finally calmed down and trailed off with one last giggling sigh, he leaned against Geralt's arm and rested his head on his shoulder. “But you're my dickhead.” 

Geralt let out a patient, long suffering sigh before grudgingly resting his cheek on the crown of Jaskier's head. The other man didn't say anything, but Jaskier felt like he'd won this particular battle.


	26. Almost There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally started writing again after three weeks of being too stressed to do anything. It's such a relief to get back to it. I just now realized that I've actually had a write my own Wiki for this series so I can keep track of details, including character names, song titles, and scars (there are a lot of those). I've never written anything so long or complicated before that actually had a plot with this many original characters. It's a lot to juggle, but I love it.
> 
> Thank you all for joining me on this journey. (Also, so many people have commented to share my love of Bodger, and that just makes me so happy. I love him.)

They stayed more more night in the cave with Bodger before getting ready to leave the next morning. The Troll was sad to see Jaskier go, but seemed to understand that he couldn't stay forever. He rummaged around in a pile of things he'd collected and came holding out a shiny item. It was an oblong stone about three inches long and two inches wide at it's widest point. It shone with shimmering colors that were embedded inside the smooth shape. 

“It's beautiful.” Jaskier smoothed his thumb over the surface and a glittering trail followed his touch before settling again. “Thank you.” 

“Bodger miss Jazzer.” 

“I'll miss you too. But I'm sure fate will bring us together again.” When they came back down from Kaer Morhen in the spring, he'd make sure to stop in to see him. The Troll nodded sadly before shuffling off into a deeper part of the cave. He started singing the song about Geralt Jaskier had been singing for him the night before. 

Jaskier headed outside and as he walked at Roach's side through the trees toward the road, he held up the stone so it caught the sunlight. He'd never seen anything like it.

“Do you know what it is?” he asked as he turned it in the morning light.

“It's called Optima Mater and it's primarily used as an alchemy ingredient in explosives.”

Jaskier's hands stilled where they were rotating the stone. “Is it stable?” he asked cautiously. 

“Yes. It's safe to handle. You could throw it on the ground and stomp on it if you wanted to. Nothing would happen. A prepared chemical reaction is required for it to be volatile. I have two smaller ones in my pack right now.” 

“Well that's good. What's it made of?”

Geralt chuckled. “Are you sure you want to know?” 

“Why?” When Geralt just looked at him, Jaskier glared back. “Now I really have to know. Don't keep me in suspense.” 

“It's a protective coating created by a drake's stomach lining when it swallows something sharp so it can pass safely.”

“You mean it's dragon poop?”

“No. That comes out differently. That's dragon vomit. From the size and color, I'd say that one is probably from a full blooded dragon instead of a lesser drake.”

Jaskier held the smooth shape in his hand and slid his thumb along the outside. Whatever it was, it was completely solid. He shrugged before sliding it into his pocket. “It's the prettiest vomit I've ever seen.”

After reaching the road, they traveled for a while in comfortable silence with only the sound of creaking branches and rustling leaves in the air. The trees seemed to sigh as they passed and Jaskier looked around curiously as he played his lute. There was a strange sense of attention but he didn't feel like he was being watched. It was more like a gentle acknowledgment. 

“About what you said last night,” Geralt said after a while. “Did you mean it?”

“Which part? When I said you shouldn't worry, or when I called you a dickhead?” He could feel the man beside him practically vibrating with tension. It was obviously difficult for him to talk about how he felt, but Jaskier didn't feel like giving him any leeway today. 

“People generally do not like me.”

“Then you're beyond oblivious,” Jaskier said with a snort. 

“I'm just speaking from experience.”

“Are you really going to start moaning about how nobody likes you? I thought you were the one who said he didn't care.”

“Jaskier.”

“No. We're talking about this with more than single word sentences and martyred declarations about being hated and not needing anyone. I will admit that there's a lot of antagonism thrown your way, but it's mostly from strangers that don't know you. The people that do know you are the ones who care about you. Stellan said he'd known you most of his life and all of his people trusted you. Nearly every single one of them told me to stay at your side because they were confident that you would protect me. The Dwarves welcomed your presence with open arms and Elihal considers you a friend.”

“Most of them tolerate me because of you,” Geralt grumbled.

“Yes, and let's talk about me for a moment.”

“You're a little overly fond of talking about you.”

“And now you're just trying to pick a fight.” Jaskier grabbed the reins and and Roach came to a stop. He glared up at her rider. “There's a lot you don't know about me and where I came from. You have no idea what I've been through or why I choose to spend time with the people I consider being worth my attention.” Jaskier took a calming breath and smoothed a hand down Roach's nose as she started to shift nervously as if she were picking up on his agitation. “If you really didn't give a shit about me, I probably would have given up on you a long time ago. But we both know you do. And while you keep saying you don't need anyone, I need you,” he finished quietly. Jaskier felt his eyes prickling and he stared at Roach's shoulder, not wanting to see the expression on the other man's face.

Geralt thrust his hand down in front of Jaskier's face, making him look up again. The Witcher was staring down at him with that unreadable expression on his face. When Jaskier took his hand, he found himself hauled up onto the horse behind the saddle. He shifted a little bit as he settled the lute case and adjusted the saddle bags and blanket roll. Then he immediately wrapped his arms around Geralt's' waist before he could change his mind. Jaskier blew out a shaky breath and pressed his face into Geralt's hair. He realized, perhaps for the first time, that the other man had been using his soap. It was one of the ones he'd purchased in Yspaden. With the Witcher's enhanced sense of smell, he must be surrounded by part of Jaskier's scent all day. 

“You're such an asshole,” Jaskier muttered as he hugged him and pressed closer. 

“Hn.” Geralt sighed and relaxed, the tension draining from him as Roach started moving again. His hand settled on top of Jaskier's clasped hands and squeezed. Sometimes actions spoke more than words, he supposed. They rode together like that until they stopped at midday beside a stream to eat and give the horse a rest. 

“So. You stay at Kaer Morhen during the winter. But what's your usual routine for the rest of the year? Do you have set patterns or places you hunt more often than others?”

“There are places in the world that are more prone to monsters than others. We used to parcel out territory when there were more of us.” Geralt stopped for a moment, his expression flattening in a way that told Jaskier he was remembering something unpleasant. “Each Witcher would patrol a set area for the season. Sometimes we'd swap territory or team up if something was particularly difficult.” 

“Why aren't there more of you?” Jaskier asked. “Nobody seems to know.”

Geralt's lips thinned. “The Wolf Keep was sacked and every Witcher in residence was slaughtered. Vesemir is the only survivor.” He took a breath and blew it out. “The rest of us weren't there when it happened.” There was a heavy sense of guilt radiating off him.

It was on the tip of Jaskier's tongue to ask why the Keep was attacked, but he could guess. He'd seen how Witchers were distrusted and feared. But he wasn't quite sure how anyone could defeat an army of Witchers who specialized in battle. “I'm surprised anyone would dare,” he said after a moment.

“The other schools had already fallen. It was only a matter of time.”

“Other schools?”

“I was trained by the Wolf school.” Geralt's fingers brushed his medallion. “There were several others. Bear, Griffin, and Cat. But all of them have closed down or they were destroyed.”

“That's such a shame,” Jaskier murmured as he tried to imagine what Witchers from the other schools must have been like. Most of the stories about Witchers were full of exaggeration or hate and it was hard to pick out the factual details. He'd had to discard quite a bit of misinformation when he finally met one for real. 

Geralt looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time. He'd do that occasionally, like he was startled Jaskier was there. Then he turned his gaze back to the stream, lost in thought. Jaskier studied his profile, noting the small nicks and scratches on his skin. Despite having accelerated healing, he had so many marks on him. Jaskier wanted to trace every one with is mouth. He swallowed and sat fidgeting as he tried to distract himself. 

“You think we'll be able to sleep in a bed tonight?” he asked, nearly rolling his eyes as his brain betrayed him and derailed his attempt to change the subject. 

“There's a town we should reach early this afternoon. It has one of the last inns before we reach the mountains.” If Geralt was aware of Jaskier's ulterior motive for asking, he didn't show it.

*******

The town was small and it catered more towards the hunters and loggers that worked the area than travelers, but the innkeeper greeted Geralt with a nod and tossed him a key when they entered the common room. 

“Evening, Geralt. Back to the Keep?”

“Malcolm.” Geralt nodded. “Everything quiet here?”

“Actually, there's a pair of Forktails that came down from the mountains last month. They keep hunting closer and closer to town. When winter comes, they'll be right on top of us.”

“I'll take a look. Does anyone have a goat they can spare? I'll compensate them.”

“Talk to Flora next door. It's been a good breeding year.” 

Nodding again, Geralt led the way to the back of the building and into one of the rooms with a familiarity that spoke of repeated visits.

“I take it you've been here before,” Jaskier said as he set his lute and pack down next to the bed.

“I usually stop here on my way to or from the Keep.”

“And he usually lets you stay for free?”

Geralt sighed. “Malcolm's grandfather went to the Keep to warn them before it fell. He was killed trying to help us, so we decided to keep an eye on his family. Malcolm refuses to charge us money.”

“If only there were more people like him.”

Geralt gave Jaskier a pointed look before shaking his head. “I'm content to be left alone most days.” 

“Only because you're not used to people being nice to you.” Jaskier went over and stood in front of him. The other man wasn't that much taller than him and he only had to tilt his head up a little to meet his eyes. The air felt heavy with anticipation as potential stretched between them as Geralt held his gaze.

“You're not coming with me on the hunt.”

“Oh, come on!” Jaskier frowned and huffed out a frustrated breath as the moment was utterly broken. 

“Forktails are fast and they're poisonous. I will have difficulty dealing with them if I'm worried about you. Please stay here.”

It was the last part of the request said so quietly that made Jaskier sigh. “How dare you be reasonable?”

Geralt watched him for a moment before leaning in to kiss him. Jaskier held his breath and closed his eyes. The Witcher had caught him by surprise. He wanted to press forward and wrap himself around the other man, but he probably wouldn't let him leave if he did. When they parted, Jaskier had to inhale like he'd just come up out of deep water for a breath of air. Geralt's brow was furrowed, like he was trying to figure out what had just happened even though he was the one who had initiated the contact.

“What's the goat for?” Jaskier asked, trying to distract himself as he willed the heat rising in his body to subside. The question snapped Geralt out of whatever dazed state he was in.

“Bait.”

“You're going to feed them?”

“Like I said, Forktails are fast. There's no way I'll catch them without drawing them in first. But If they've come down from the mountain for food, it shouldn't take long.” 

“Be careful and all that,” Jaskier said awkwardly, wishing he'd leave soon so he could calm down enough to think again. 

Geralt watched him like he wanted to say something else, but then he quickly grabbed his sword case and left the room. Jaskier stared at the wooden paneling of the door for a while after he was gone, thinking about how to proceed. He spared a moment to curse the Forktails for being massive cock-blockers before shaking himself and needlessly checking his gear. Pulling out a notebook, he tried work on some lyrics to pass the time. But he was feeling restless and having trouble focusing, so he headed out to the common room for a drink. He'd sing if anyone asked, but he wasn't going to offer. He was too pent up to concentrate. 

But as he came out into the main part of the inn, he stopped in the doorway. There were three men at the bar talking to Malcolm and their leader was trying to hand him a money pouch. One of the men with him was the one who'd been in Elihal's shop, the one who's called Jaskier a disgrace. The entire left side of his face was a mottled mess of burn scars. Yennefer must have gotten him before he escaped. Jaskier's blood went cold. Malcolm shook his head again angrily and his eyes unconsciously flicked in Jaskier's direction. The three men turned and Jaskier felt himself pinned to the spot. 

“You leave my customers alone,” Malcolm said while he moved down to the end of the bar, clearly preparing to physically throw them out. He gestured toward the handful of men at the tables by the fire and they all moved to get up and face the intruders. The man Jaskier recognized raised his hand and barked a word he didn't understand. Everyone in the room suddenly froze in place as he felt his own body squeezed by some invisible force. He hummed behind his closed lips and found that he couldn't open his mouth. Jaskier fought against the paralysis, feeling the traces of what must be a spell coiled around him. It vibrated against his skin uncomfortably as his fingers twitched. He kept pushing until it broke, gasping and taking a deep breath as the magic holding him finally shredded. The man who had cast it stared at him in disbelief for a moment. The leader merely sighed.

“Grab him,” he said as he casually gestured to the second man with him.

Jaskier didn't stick around to find out what they wanted. He bolted for the door, dodging the man's grasping hands. But as he burst out of the door and into the street, he bounced off another man that was just about to come in. Strong fingers curled in the fabric of his doublet, yanking him to a stop. The rational part of Jaskier's brain chided him for his lame escape attempt. Where did he think he was going to go? But he knew he had to get away.

“Get off!” Jaskier twisted in the man's grip, nearly getting free because he'd surprised him. But the man lunged forward and hugged him tightly from behind, pinning Jaskier's arms to his sides. 

“It's impossible,” the mage sputtered as came hurrying outside with a viscous frown on his face. 

“Calm yourself Rience,” the leader said when he came out behind him. “We have him.”

“What do you want?” Jaskier asked him, unable to keep himself from trying to wiggle free from his captor. 

“Gods only know,” Rience muttered. 

“Fuck off!” Jaskier was tired of not knowing what was going on and he wasn't going to let this asshole treat him like shit. Rience raised his hand to strike him, but the man holding Jaskier swung him out of the way while still holding him tightly. The leader's hand snapped out to grip Rience's wrist.

“I always offer pristine cargo for sale, not damaged goods. Your services are convenient, but they aren't strictly required. Try to strike him again and you're not getting paid.” 

Rience sneered and tugged his hand free. “I pity whoever is paying you for this pathetic wretch. They certainly won't be getting their money's worth.”

Jaskier had no idea why he seemed to hate him so much. He didn't even know the man.

“It's not my concern,” the leader said. “Just put him to sleep so we can be on our way.”

Rience snapped his fingers angrily and waved them in Jaskier's face while hissing another strange word. Jaskier felt the sudden pull of sleep and fought it as his knees turned to jelly. Only the grip of the man holding him kept him upright. He huffed and blew out a breath as he fought against the downward slide into unconsciousness. Fingers gripped his chin tightly and tilted his head up. Rience peered into his face, a snarl pulling at his mouth.

“What _are_ you?”

“Enough. If you can't manage to put one fucking minstrel to sleep, then just open the portal.” 

“He's resisting but he shouldn't be able to.” Rience's gaze turned from anger to calculation quickly as he looked closer. Whatever he saw had his eyes narrowing in a way Jaskier didn't like. There was far too much interest in his gaze. It reminded him of the way Yennefer had studied him while she had him pinned to the wall. Rience sneered. “Whatever your client is paying you, Preston, I'll double it.”

Jaskier jerked his face out of Rience's grip, but his protest came out as an unintelligible string of slurred sounds. While he wasn't asleep, he had to fight to stay awake and the control he had over his body was sketchy at best.

“I have a contract,” Preston said, his tone chilling. “Make your offer to my client if you like. But only after their current business with me is concluded.”

The two men stared at each other, but Preston's other man came up behind his leader and put his hand on his weapon. Seeing that he was clearly outnumbered, Rience backed down. Holding up a hand with his fingers splayed out, he spoke another word and the air in front of them started to swirl ominously. Jaskier's eyes widened and he pressed back into the man holding him as he tried to get away from it. His mind suddenly cleared with a burst of adrenaline and his muscles started to respond again. He felt a sick feeling coil in his gut as he remembered the last time he'd been taken through the vortex of a portal. 

“No.” He dug his heels in, but the man behind Preston came over and yanked his legs up off the ground so they could carry him through. “Geralt!” 

Jaskier's cry rang out through the small town, but the Witcher didn't magically appear. There was no one else in the street and the spell holding Malcolm and his patrons captive seemed to be active still. As they stepped through the portal, Jaskier felt his insides twist and his brain shut down as he went limp in his captor's grip. His last coherent thought was that Geralt would be disappointed that trouble had followed him yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we head into the end game of the story.


	27. Family Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warning and mild spoiler:**
> 
> I don't usually put chapter specific warnings because I don't like to spoil things, but I don't want to catch anyone by surprise because most of this story has taken place in the canon setting so far. But there are descriptions of modern medical anxiety and medical restraints in this chapter.
> 
> Brace yourselves. It's going to get worse before it gets better.

When Jaskier woke, his head was pounding. He shifted where he lay and found his hands bound behind him and his ankles lashed together. His breath started heaving when he opened his eyes and couldn't see anything. There was something covering his head and gag had been tied tightly over his mouth. Jaskier flinched and let out a muffled cry when he was pulled upright so he was kneeling on the hard ground. When the hood was yanked off, he blinked in the sudden brightness. There was an all terrain SUV parked a few dozen yards away among the trees, but he could feel the light wash of magic on his skin. They were still in the Wood, so they had to be sitting right next to the border. 

“Did you bring the money?” Preston asked from where he stood next to him. When Jaskier tried to shift away from him, a hand gripped his hair and held him still, making him huff behind the gag. He stopped struggling and froze in shock when he saw Ferrant step out of the SUV's passenger seat. Doldir, his pet police officer, got out from behind the wheel and moved around the back to pop the hatch and pull out a large bag. He carried it forward and threw it across the border where it landed with a metallic clinking sound. 

Preston stepped forward to inspect the contents himself. Pulling out a coin, he turned it his fingers before closing the bag again and lifting it. He nodded at the man holding Jaskier and he let him go with a shove that sent him sprawling to the ground. Jaskier struggled to sit up as he watched them go through another portal. Ferrant had probably just paid his ransom, but why? Rience was glaring at Jaskier from where he'd opened the magical passage. But he didn't follow Preston and his men through the opening. It closed with a rush of magic and the mage turned to watch Ferrant and Doldir approach.

“Are you sure about this Ferrant?” he asked sounding dubious. “You just paid a small fortune for a waste of space.”

Jaskier glared up at him. How did this man know his cousin? Ferrant hated magic. 

“Mind your own business Rience. I pay for your abilities, not what you think.” 

“If you need a guinea pig to restart your uncle's research, I can get you something better. You might as well throw this one back.”

Ferrant sniffed and waved at him dismissively. “Why are you still here? Our business is concluded.” He nodded at Doldir and stared at Jaskier. “Get him in the car.” 

Jaskier stared back as he watched Ferrant's features shift from annoyance to a level of calculation that scared him. It was the kind of look his father used to give him. Jaskier twisted his hands and tried to loosen the ropes as Doldir came closer, falling back as he tried to shift away fro him. He didn't get far before the other man reached down and hauled him to his feet. But didn't untie him. Instead, Doldir hefted him up and slung him over his shoulder. Jaskier swore at him behind the gag and struggled futilely as he was carried back toward the SUV. Rience stalked off and disappeared through another portal. Jaskier's rescue had just dissolved into a continuation of his kidnapping. A thin whine left him as they crossed the border and the tingling net of prickling sensation stretched over his skin. It was so much worse now than it had been before. 

By the time Doldir dumped him in the rear compartment of the vehicle, he was writhing like fire ants were crawling under his skin. Jaskier huffed as he tried to calm himself. He tried to move away as Doldir pulled out a hypodermic gun and prepped a cartridge, but he didn't get very far before the muzzle was pressed against his neck and he felt a sharp pinch. As he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard the back hatch close and he was engulfed in darkness as the cargo cover snapped shut. The drugs quickly took him under where magic had failed before. 

*******

When Jaskier woke again, the fog of medication made him feel groggy. He was laying in a bed and there was a quiet beeping sound that made him nervous. The smell of disinfectants and chemicals stung his nose, making his eyes snap open in a panic. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to sit up. But his hands and feet were tied down with padded cuffs wrapped around his wrists and ankles. A wide strap across his chest held his torso in place under the thin blanket that was pulled up to his shoulders. Jaskier could feel the pull of monitor pads stuck to his skin and a thick blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his left bicep. One of the machines beeped and it inflated until the pressure painful before slowly softening its hold and taking measurements. Tears pricked his eyes and he took a shuddering breath, but he wasn't sure why. He couldn't remember ever being in the hospital before but for some reason, all of this was painfully familiar and frightening in a way he didn't understand.

When the door opened, Ferrant came in with a man in a white coat. Jaskier sputtered angrily when Ferrant's eyes flicked over in his direction briefly before ignoring him and looking down at his phone again. The other man came over with a tray that held a rack of tubes and a few things he couldn't identify. Setting it down on a rolling cart and bringing it over, he raised the bed so Jaskier was in a reclined sitting position. When the blanket fell down to pool in his lap, it revealed that he was nude beneath it. The man rolled Jaskier's arm and tapped the inside of his elbow so he could insert an IV line and start filling the vials with blood. His other arm was already hooked up to an unmarked bag hanging from a rack at the top of the bed.

“Ferrant! What the fuck?” 

Ferrant sighed heavily. “I could never understand why Uncle Talwyn put up with you instead of kicking you out and cutting you off completely. You were and embarrassment to the family and more trouble than you were worth for the longest time. And yet, he kept parading you out in front the guests at company functions like you were something worth bragging about. I didn't get it.”

Jaskier glared and thought about insulting him, but for the first time, he didn't want him to stop talking. He hissed suddenly as the man drawing blood hit something painful in his arm as he hooked up another vial. 

“Careful, Kayden. Every drop of his blood is worth more than you make in a year.” 

Jaskier felt a chill go through him and he shivered. He had no idea what was going on. “What's happening?” he asked in a choked voice, feeling unbearably helpless. He turned his head away as Ferrant came over to the other side of the bed and reached out to grip his ear. 

“I found Talwyn's notes,” Ferrant said as he pinched the skin and cartilage painfully between his fingers. “And then everything made so much more sense. Did you have any idea what he was charging clients for gene therapy?” 

“What?” Genetic manipulation was illegal for a reason. 

“You don't think the Pankratz fortune was made just with audio equipment and software, do you? You were his golden child, the living advertisement for his real work.”

Jaskier honestly hadn't thought about it because he just didn't care. Ferrant pulled a thick folder out of a drawer and dropped it in his lap. Jaskier felt a sharp pain at the tip of his cock when it landed. Kayden shifted the folder a little and the pain subsided a bit. 

“Be careful not to dislodge the catheter. I don't want to have to deal with treating an infection if you injure him.”

Jaskier's eyes teared up and he fought to keep his breathing under control. They planned to keep him here in this bed indefinitely. He sucked in a breath when Ferrant opened the folder and he saw the spill of photos. The one on top was of his mother. Her golden brown hair was tucked behind her delicately pointed ears. He wasn't sure why the image surprised him. If he was an Elf, then obviously she had been too. But he was just now realizing that he'd forgotten what she looked like. A tear slid down his cheek to drip off his chin. She was holding a smiling Elven baby. The tiny version of himself was hugging her tightly. The blue of his eyes was much more vivid and ethereal in the photo. 

“Talwyn was a genius for offering the refugees shelter when they crossed the border. It was great for PR and it opened up a whole new branch in our science division.” The admiration in Ferrant's voice made Jaskier nauseous. “Sorcerers think they have genetics figured out with their pitiful archaic powers. They have no idea what real science is.”

If Jaskier hadn't hated the man pretending to be his father before, he certainly did now. And Ferrant had just graduated from annoying relative to terrifying captor. 

“I still don't quite understand how he did it,” Ferrant murmured as he flipped through the photos. There were several closeups of Jaskier as a child but they almost looked like mug shots. There were front facing and profile shots of his face showing the progression of his pointed ears slowly rounding. His finer features slowly rounded out with the chubbiness of human youth. But his eyes were clouded, like he was drugged. Jaskier didn't remember any of this, though it did explain why being in a medical facility instilled a bone deep fear in him. He felt anxiety crawling up his throat and he had to keep trying to prevent it from overwhelming him.

“Talwyn did such a masterful job changing you from Elf to Human,” Ferrant murmured. “But I don't know what happened. Your blood isn't Human anymore. Maybe it has something to do with the time your mother tried to steal you.” He snorted. “Apparently she made it half way to Toussaint before she got caught.”

Jaskier clenched his fingers. That must have been when his mother had brought him back to Filavandrel. But the Elf hadn't said anything about her getting caught and he just couldn't remember no matter how hard he tried.

“He tried to change your mother too after he had her dragged back here. But apparently he couldn't figure out how to shift adult Elven blood. Children seem to be far more malleable.” Ferrant pulled out one last photo of Jaskier's mother. Her skin was pale and she was lying on a metal slab with her eyes closed. It was obvious that she was dead. Something clenched painfully in Jaskier's chest and he turned his head away as a sob shook him. 

“Don't worry,” Ferrant said, his tone lacking any anything resembling sympathy. “We have you back now and we can figure out why you've started reverting back. Maybe we can even work out how to make the change in adults as well. After all, it's been nearly thirty years.” 

“We'll know more when I can examine these samples,” Kayden said absently as he set the last tube of blood in the rack and handed them to a technician that entered the room to take them. “And we'll get a better idea of what we're dealing with after we get him in the MRI. Marsh should be back tomorrow and we'll get it set up sometime in the afternoon.”

“He was supposed to be back yesterday.”

“And he wouldn't have had anything to do,” Kayden huffed. “It took you forever to finally get us a viable test subject.” They talked about Jaskier like he wasn't there.

“Blame that on Rience. He said he was good at tracking, but his piddly spells didn't come up with anything until the other day.” Ferrant sighed. “Magic is so overrated.” He patted Jaskier's shoulder in an empty gesture. “I'm so glad Dell and those thugs failed. It was incredibly short sighted of me.” 

Jaskier said nothing as his thoughts reeled and he fought to stop the tears. The man pretending to be his father had experimented on him and his mother and she'd died as a result. Ferrant had hired men to kill him and when they'd failed, he'd had him kidnapped so he could start the experiments all over again. Jaskier clenched his jaw and tugged at the restraints. “Ferrant. Whatever you're doing. We can figure something out. I can-”

“You can just lay there and shut up,” Ferrant snapped. “You're going to be useful for once.” 

“You piece of shit,” Jaskier hissed angrily, using anger to drag himself out of the painful misery that threatened to swamp him. “Let me go!”

Ferrant ignored him and picked up the file before nodding at Kayden. “Let's finish the preliminary examination now. I want to compare some of this data to the old records.”

When Kayden put a hand on his forehead and tried to shine a light in his eyes, Jaskier jerked away. “Fuck off!” He couldn't get out of the bed, but he wasn't going to make this easy for them.

“Oh, for pity's sake,” Ferrant muttered. He helped hold him down as Kayden brought over another set of straps. A thick leather strap was threaded under Jaskier's neck and attached to the bed so a padded collar could be buckled around his throat and hooked into place. Another strap went across Jaskier's forehead to keep his head still. Jaskier would have tried to bite him, but Ferrant pulled his chin down, forcing his mouth open. Kayden pulled out something that looked like a bent pair of scissors with flat, padded ends that were shoved between his back teeth on the left side. With a couple clicks, they forced his mouth wide and held it open so he couldn't close it anymore. It left Jaskier unable to speak as he gurgled angrily and huffed around it as his voice was reduced to angry, unintelligible sounds. 

Frustrated tears trailed down as he was left completely helpless as Kayden pawed at him. He brought the light back to check his pupil dilation, muttering numbers that Ferrant jotted down on his phone. He peered into Jaskier's open mouth and throat with the light while he held his tongue down with a wide silicone covered paddle. It pressed far enough back to make his gag reflex kick in. When he was finished with his head, the strange clamp was removed so he could close his mouth again, much to Jaskier's relief. But he started shouted angrily at them when the blanket was pulled away completely so they could examine his body. 

Kayden pulled out a roll of wide medical tape and pulled off a strip before smoothing it over Jaskier's mouth and sealing it shut. He screamed behind the tape, bucking against the ties that held him down as the other man's hands poked and prodded at him. All it did was exhaust him and he flopped back against the bed, sobbing in frustration as he tried to ignore the hands on his body. Nobody was going to save him this time. Geralt had no idea he was here.


	28. Power Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter warning and mild spoiler:**
> 
> There is a description of a panic attack inside an MRI machine in this chapter. Everyone take care of yourselves.

Jaskier slept fitfully that night as he was left alone with the the beeping of the machines and low lights keeping him awake. He tried to get the tape off his mouth by opening his jaw, but all that did was stretch and pull at his skin to the point of pain. His lips were stuck together too tightly to pry at it with his tongue. He'd hoped that moisture would start releasing the adhesive, but it must have been some kind surgical tape that was designed to be waterproof.

They didn't seem to care about his psychological well being as long as he was physically fit enough for testing. At one point, Jaskier's panic surged, making him tug against the restraints until he bruised himself with the effort. The beeping became erratic as his heart rate increased and one of the machines sputtered and died with a hiss of sparks and a small trail of acrid smoke. His breath shuddered in his throat as heaving sobs shook him. A technician opened the door, bathing the room and bright artificial light from the doorway as he came in with a look of irritation on his face. He sighed heavily and pulled out the broken equipment before leaving the room. He returned a short while later with a new unit. Jaskier tried to get his attention as he plugged it in, but he wouldn't meet Jaskier's eyes and left the room as quickly as he could. Jaskier slumped back onto the bed and fell back into restless sleep.

He snapped awake again with a muffled yelp as the blood pressure cuff suddenly started inflating and squeezing his arm painfully. His eyes felt heavy form lack of real sleep and extreme stress. Kayden was leaning over him and looking at the monitors. He didn't look directly at Jaskier or say anything to him as he recorded information on his PDA. He cleared the blood sample IV with saline but he pushed the fluid in too quickly, making the pressure on the inside of Jaskier's arm rise painfully to the point he thought something would burst. He grunted and blew out a breath through his nose. 

Kayden went to his other side and prepped a needle before injecting something into the IV bag hooked up to his other arm. Jaskier whined as a cold numbing sensation started spreading through him. It felt just like the dart that Dell had hit him with back in Ard Carraigh. His muscles slowly relaxed against his will and soon he couldn't move at all. He couldn't even make a sound. His control had been reduced to breathing and blinking and there was no magic here for him to sing it away. Jaskier watched as Kayden started unstrapping him from the bed as a technician came in pushing a smaller gurney into the room. He was efficiently transferred from the bulkier hospital bed to the smaller gurney and they wheeled him out the door and down the hall. They hadn't bothered with the blanket and he lay naked on the thin pad.

Jaskier watched the featureless hallways pass him by, noting that there were no public information posters that would have been plastered everywhere in an official medical office or a hospital. He had the feeling that he was in a private facility, far away from any regulations or laws that would protect him from what his captors planned to do to him. His anxiety levels had lowered considerably because the drug had slowed his heart rate and kept it even, but it was like the panic was behind a soft wall of numbness and he worried that once it broke through, it would crush him. 

He was finally rolled into a room with a huge, bulky machine taking up most of the space that hummed with low undertones that he could feel in his bones. It had a round, tube-shaped opening in the middle with and a long tray at the end. At the end of the tray closest to the machine, there was some sort of frame with a hinge on it. He heart fought against the drug and his breathing picked up. They were going to load him inside this thing like a bullet in the barrel of the gun. He could see another man sitting at a computer behind a large glass window that looked out on the room. There was no sign of Ferrant. 

Jaskier took a deep breath as he was lifted and laid down on the tray. He would have been trembling if he hadn't been drugged. The frame at the end of the tray lined up with his head and he was packed in with towels to keep his head still. He wasn't sure why they bothered when he couldn't even twitch a muscle. He whined as a cloth was laid over his eyes, keeping them closed. He heard a click and his head was held tightly still. Not being able to see made everything so much worse. Jaskier couldn't tell what they were doing anymore. He lay there for a while, waiting for them to do something. All he could hear was the hum of the machine and the slow, drugged thump of his own heartbeat. The itch along his skin seemed to spike as the tray jerked into motion and it loaded him into the machine. 

Even though he couldn't see, it was like he could feel how tight and enclosed the space was as the tray came to an abrupt stop. He wasn't sure if he was just imagining it, or if the air really was pressing into him on all sides. The underlying hum started to hurt and he wanted to writhe on the tray. But his drugged muscles lay lax and unresponsive as the itch intensified. Jaskier's eyes started rolling behind his closed lids as the machine turned on. If he thought the hum was bad, the banging roar of the machine was so much worse. It was deafening and seemed to pound against his skull. Just when he thought he'd figured out the pattern so he could anticipate the noise, it changed abruptly, startling him and making his breath shudder. 

When his finger twitched, he wanted to cry with relief. Whatever they'd given him seemed to be wearing off already, but the chunking throb of the machine pressed into him, distracting him from his small victory. The pounding in his skull started to grow, pressing against his eyes and stabbing into his brain almost like when the sorceress had tried to dig into his mind. He never found out what she wanted from him. A low moan left him as a particularly sharp stab of pain made stars burst in his vision. It was really starting to hurt. 

Jaskier hummed, desperately trying to distract himself as his muscles started cramping painfully. His back ached from laying on the flat tray and his body seemed to be trying to turn itself inside out. When it finally became too much, Jaskier screamed behind the tape. Fire tore along his nerves and the machine's chugging sounds started to falter as it sputtered and struggled. Jaskier screamed again, his back arching as he reached up to claw at the frame that held his head still. His hands slammed into to top of the tube, making his knuckles sting before he was able to scrabble for the latch. He struggled to get it open and he tore at the towels that had been packed in around his ears. 

There wasn't enough room in the tube to open the frame all the way and Jaskier had to pry his head out while he wriggled frantically to get himself out of the small space. The friction of his skin against the coated metal of the machine stung, but he had to get out. It felt like the tube was closing in on him and he became consumed with the need to be free before it crushed him. He fell out of the machine and banged his hip painfully on the sliding frame of the tray before landing on the floor with the smack of bare skin on tile. Jaskier tore at the tape over his mouth, as he stumbled to his feet, crying out in frustration and pain as the adhesive pulled at his skin. His breath was shrieking in his throat as he slammed out of the room, pushing the door with enough force to make it bang into the wall. The hallway was only half lit by the emergency lights.

Jaskier didn't get far before he fell to his knees. He was panting as he splayed his hands against the cool tile. His body was on fire, the itching net of his magic being blocked was almost too much to bear. He pushed and tore at it as he tried to find relief. Looking up at the sound of footsteps, he saw Kayden and the technician hurrying down the hall in his direction. The tight net of sensation over his body suddenly popped like a soap bubble and he collapsed to the floor as the pain suddenly subsided. The absence of pain seemed to be a sensation all on its own. 

Jaskier was barely aware of being lifted back onto the gurney and being taken back to his room. They put him back in the hospital bed and strapped him back down. Jaskier watched them from lowered lids as exhaustion pulled at him. But he had control over his body and his voice had returned. And they hadn't tied his head down this time. The underlying hum of the facility was finally quiet. His mind remained in a fog and he tried to clear his thoughts. But when he started singing to himself, another piece of tape was pressed over his mouth. He started drifting again after he was left alone in the dark, dreaming of shadowed trees and a starlit sky. 

*******

Jaskier woke when the lights came on again, making him wince in the sudden brightness. He felt calmer than he had since he'd been brought here as he hummed softly. He was still frustrated and afraid, but it wasn't the blind, numbing panic he'd been experiencing before. He heard raised voiced in the hallway. 

“What the fuck happened?” Ferrant must be truly pissed to lower himself to profanity. He'd always considered himself above that type of vulgarity. Or maybe he just wanted others to believe that. He'd always been overly preoccupied with perception and public image. 

“I'm not an electrician,” Kayden snapped. “The entire power grid went down, and then the backup generators died. It was probably a power surge that busted the MRI.”

“This whole thing has set us back. The machine can't just be replaced like a broken light bulb.” Ferrant huffed an irritated sigh. “We're going to have to proceed without the imaging.” He pushed the door open and glared at the bed as if it was all Jaskier's fault. Jaskier just stared back at him placidly. He wasn't going to let the fucker intimidate him anymore. His calm felt unnatural but it was better than the panic. 

“The results won't be accurate if I don't get a baseline scan.” Kayden came over with another rack of vials to take more blood. 

“Make do. It's not as if we can take him to a hospital.” 

Kayden finished with the vials and checked the hookups on the machines that had come back to life when the lights came on. Jaskier tiled his head up to watch him when the other man swore under his breath. 

“We've lost another monitor. You said it was new.”

“It was,” Ferrant snapped. “Everything here is top of the line.”

“They why is all of it breaking down?” Kayden was just as pissed as Ferrant and he sneered at him. “The blood samples from yesterday were a complete loss. Either the centrifuge malfunctioned or the sample tubes were contaminated. Everything turned to jelly. If everything keeps fucking up, we won't get anywhere.” Kayden looked down at Jaskier suddenly like he realized that they were talking in front of him. He grabbed the rack of vials stalked out of the room. Ferrant gave Jaskier one more contemptuous look before following him.

When he was alone again, Jaskier tested the cuffs, twisting his hands as he tried to find the leverage to twist his way out. But they hugged his wrists too snugly. He'd read that dislocating your thumb could help you get out of cuffs, but wasn't sure he could do it. Now that he wasn't panicking, he had time to feel miserable for other reasons. He was hungry. Whatever was in the IV bag would probably keep him alive, but it didn't feel like enough. And he soon got bored. How many times could he count the dots in the ceiling tiles? The entire room was unrelieved white with very few things to look at. He was calm enough now, but the longer he stayed here, the more likely it was that the anxiety would return. So he lay there trying to keep himself occupied. He wasn't very successful. It was too hard to concentrate.

He lost track of time as he dozed, his mind seemingly shutting down to keep him calm. The lights stayed dim so he had no idea if it was day or night. The technician came in occasionally to take readings from the monitors but didn't speak to him or meet his eyes. Kayden and Ferrant didn't come to see him again. Apparently, Jaskier had been left to the lab minion do deal with. 

*******

Sometime later, it might have been hours or days, the door opened and a man in a repair uniform slipped quietly into the room. He held the door open for a moment to peer out into the hall, before finally closing it. When he turned around, he saw Jaskier and froze. Vaz blinked at him in shock. 

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” 

Jaskier had never been so happy to see the other man and he hummed urgently behind the tape while tugging at the restraints. While he'd been lingering in a half sleep for some time, he was now wide awake.

“Change of plans,” Vaz said as he put his hand up to his ear and came over to the bed. “I need an immediate evac.” He carefully pulled the tape away, making Jaskier wince, before he pulled back the thin blanket and started unbuckling the straps. If he was bothered by Jaskier's nudity, he didn't show it. After going to the sink and quickly washing his hands, he gingerly removed the catheter tube and unhooked the IV from his arm.

“Yes I know we're on a timetable,” Vaz snapped as he moved away to start rifling through the cabinets along the wall. “But they already have a subject and I need to get him out.” Vaz stopped suddenly, clutching the pair of scrubs he'd found. “Fuck our orders. It's Jaskier!” he hissed. He stopped to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line. “I have no idea. He was supposed to be in Ard Carraigh. Hello? Do you copy? Shit,” he muttered as he tossed the clothes at Jaskier. “Put those one. We need to get out of here.”

Jaskier was rubbing at his sore wrists and the fabric hit him in the face. He fumbled the clothes and tugged them on. “Where exactly is here?”

“Lettenhove. You never should have come back here. I would have sent you the letter I left for you in Gelibol, but I didn't know exactly where you were.”

“I did get the letter, but coming here wasn't exactly a choice,” Jaskier said as he yanked the thin pants up over his hips and tied them in place. “And I gathered it was Lettenhove. Ferrant doesn't travel outside the Tech. Ever. What I meant was, where is this room in the city? I wasn't awake when they brought me here.” 

“Ferrant as in Ferrant Pankratz?” Vaz's eyes narrowed. “How do you know him?”

“He's my cousin.” 

Vaz stopped and looked at him. “That's not possible. He has no living relatives and his only cousin died weeks ago.”

“That fucker,” Jaskier swore. “Let me guess. There was a glowing, yet sappy epitaph for Julian Pankratz in the obituaries.”

“Yeah.”

“Do I look dead to you?” Jaskier asked in exasperation as he spread his arms wide. The other man didn't answer as he absorbed the new information. Jaskier huffed. “Ferrant probably announced my demise when he found out Dell failed to kill me. Nobody with good intentions would look for me if they thought I was dead. Then he sent Preston and Rience to bring me back here. ”

“I don't know the names of the other two, but I knew that shithead Dell was up to something. The next time I see him, he won't like it.”

“He's dead.” 

“How?”

“He got eaten by wolves when he was trying to kill me. Long story.”

Vaz pondered that for a moment before reaching out and cupping Jaskier's chin. “What did they do to you?”

“What do you mean?” They'd done a lot of things, but none of it should be visible. Instead of answering, Vaz took his shoulders and turned him so he could see his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Jaskier blinked at the person staring back at him. His features were still clearly recognizable, but they were finer and his eyes were bluer. They looked more like the baby in the photo. The changes were subtle, but they were there. Jaskier inhaled sharply. He had a deep feeling that this was what he was supposed to look like. Mostly. Reaching up, he traced his ear. It was still round. “I. . .I don't know. I don't think they did anything.”'

He remembered recovering in Bodger's cave. He'd repaired his broken body in his sleep with his magic. And when he'd woken, Geralt had taken a long, hard look at his face just like Vaz just had. Had he unconsciously restored his Elven features when he'd healed the injuries? Vaz didn't know about any of that yet. He just knew that Jaskier had magic and suspected he wasn't entirely human. He didn't seem to care one way or another, but this was a much longer conversation that was probably best had when they'd reached safety. Vaz seemed to agree as he took Jaskier's arm and opened the door a crack to peer out into the hallway.

“Stay close. The power surge knocked out the cameras but there's extra security wandering around. I slipped in with the repair crew that's here to fix the power, but it won't do either of us any good if they see you. We're in a basement facility on the south side of the city close to the border. If we can cross over into the Wood, we can portal out of the area.” 

Jaskier swallowed hard at the mention of the portal. But the farther he could get away from here, the better.


	29. The Time of the Sword and Axe

Jaskier and Vaz moved cautiously down the hallway through a surprisingly empty building. There were no windows so they must be underground somewhere. Jaskier had so many questions, but didn't dare speak with the way sound echoed along the empty halls. Twice they had to duck into a room when they heard someone coming in their direction and waited quietly in the dark while they passed by. So far, they'd been lucky and nobody seemed to have noticed that Jaskier was missing yet. 

When they rounded a corner, Jaskier saw a set of double doors at the end of a long hall that made his heart start hammering in his chest. He didn't want to get any closer to those doors. When he stopped in the middle of the hall suddenly, he felt Vaz jerk to a stop beside him. The other man tugged at his sleeve, but Jaskier shook his head as he felt his eyes widen. Footsteps echoed behind them, and a shout rang out before the sound of running started getting closer. Jaskier was vaguely aware that they must have noticed his empty room, but he was barely aware of anything beyond the fear. Vaz half dragged, half carried him down the hall and through the doors before shoving him down to crouch behind a cabinet. He pressed his hand lightly over Jaskier's mouth when he started to whimper and leaned forward to press his lips against his ear.

“Shhh. It's alright,” Vaz murmured.

Jaskier pressed into him and squeezed his eyes shut as the doors were flung wide open, bathing the darkened room in light. And then the lights went out completely, leaving them in complete blackness. Even the emergency lights were dark. Their pursuers swore and flicked on flashlights, but the beams missed their hiding spot by mere inches before the men gave up and moved on. Jaskier started trembling as they sat quietly waiting until it was silent again. 

“Hey,” Vaz whispered as he removed his hand and smoothed Jaskier's hair away from his face. “Look at me.” He flicked on a pocket light that bathed them in a dim, red glow. Jaskier turned his head to look at him in the eerie red light, pressing his lips together and clenching his jaw so his teeth wouldn't chatter with nerves. He tried to ignore the harsh chemical scent surrounding them.

“I've got you, okay?” Vaz cupped his cheek and held his gaze. 

Jaskier nodded, not trusting his voice. He wasn't sure why he was so terrified of a room, but he wasn't quite brave enough to look around to find out why. And he couldn't sing his fear away. He flinched when the lights came back on and he turned back to stare at the cheap paneling of the cabinet. The lights were switched off in the room, but light from the hall spilled in under the doors. Vaz's eyes flicked to the other side of the room for a moment before looking back at Jaskier.

“If I go check out that computer, will you be okay here for a minute? I'll be just a few steps away.”

Jaskier nodded. Part of his brain was trying to be insulted that he was talking to him like a child, but right now he probably needed it. He stayed crouched behind the cabinet and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the cool cinder block wall in front of him as Vaz slipped away. The necessity of staying quiet left Jaskier to mouth the words of a song without sound as he tried to stay calm. He could hear the whir of a hard drive coming to life and a blue glow filled the room before Vaz turned the screen brightness down. He typed a bit before before swearing. 

“Those fuckers,” he spat quietly. Then there was a sputter and hiss of frying equipment before Vaz came back over. “We're getting out of here now, alright?”

“Okay.” As Jaskier got up, he couldn't quite resist one glimpse of what terrified him so badly. He caught sight of a reclined chair with armrests sticking straight out to the sides. The thick straps hanging loose made him swallow hard. Large lights were hanging over the chair and pieces of equipment were clustered around it. The computer that Vaz had been working on was on the other side of the room with a bank of monitors. All of them were dark. Jaskier had a horrible feeling that he'd been in this room before but it had been a long time ago. He was glad to be leaving. Vaz curled an arm around his shoulders and led him out, looking in both directions before drawing him down the left hand branch. 

“Stop right there!” An angry voice rang out behind them.

“Run!” Vaz said as he propelled him down the hallway. Jaskier didn't need to be told twice. Vaz steered him through another set of doors into a darker hall. “Straight down this way and then to the left. There's a stairwell.”

Jaskier propelled himself on his toes as a hard, barking echo tore through the air. Shards of cinder block grazed his cheek.

“Don't shoot him, you moron! I need him undamaged!” Ferrant's voice rang out in the hallway behind them as they turned the corner and burst through the doors into the stairwell. A utilitarian set of metal stairs led upwards into the gloom. They must be several stories underground. They started running upward and the harsh textured stairs tore at Jaskier's bare feet. 

“Northwest stairwell. Does anyone copy?” Vaz asked breathlessly as he ran at his heels. Pounding footsteps echoed on the stairs below them as they reached the second flight. 

Fear and desperation drove Jaskier on. He wasn't going to let them catch him again. Four flights up, he pushed open a door that set off an alarm as he stepped out onto a concrete slab surrounded by trees. There was a dirt access road with an SUV parked in the grass. Doldir looked up from his phone in surprise before reflexively pulling his gun. When he took aim at Vaz, Jaskier had a split second to decide what to do before shoving him out of the way. The gun went off and pain tore through his right shoulder, making him stumble and fall to his knees.

“Fuck!” he hissed, pressing his hand to the wound. Blood seeped out between his fingers as their pursuers came out of the stairwell behind them.   
“Shit.” Vaz crouched beside him and put pressure on his shoulder as he tried to shield Jaskier from everyone.

“Doldir! You incompetent fuck.” Ferrant stomped out of the stairwell and walked over to him. “Now we're going to have to fix him before he's of any use. More delays means more money. You're fucking useless. I should-” Ferrant cut off abruptly as Doldir backhanded him. 

“Shut your mouth, heathen.” Doldir glared contemptuously at Ferrant where he sprawled on the ground holding his cheek in shock. He stared at Doldir like he'd never seen him before.

“Who do you think you are?” Ferrant sputtered as he got back to his feet. “I think you're forgetting who's in charge here.”

Doldir sneered. “You think your money makes you important. You're nothing in the eyes of the Eternal Fire.”

Jaskier watched in morbid fascination as he felt a lightheaded giddiness spread through him. He heard multiple guns cocking from behind him but he wasn't sure if they were aiming at Doldir on Ferrant's behalf or if they were turncoats aiming at Ferrant. Cold flooded his body and he started to shiver. The Cult of the Eternal fire was a fanatic branch of the church that believed that the flames of the Eternal Fire would cleanse the earth of non-humans and monsters. They felt that magic was an aberration and most believers dwelled exclusively in Modern Cities

“Had I known you were one of those fanatics, I would have fired you years ago,” Ferrant spat.

“And yet, you didn't look that hard. I hardly hide my faith. It's easier for you to ignore things that are inconvenient for you,” Doldir sneered. “Your uncle's research showed potential when you first found it. But now that I've seen the results-” Doldir nodded at Jaskier. “I see it's just muddling in impure, non-human blood. He should just be put down.” Doldir leveled the gun at Jaskier and Vaz tried to put himself in front of him.

“You're wasting your time with non-human scum,” Doldir told Vaz, his voice cold. “May the Eternal Fire cleanse your worthless soul.” 

“No!” Jaskier shouted as Doldir raised the gun, but when he pulled the trigger, it merely clicked and did nothing. And then he jerked and his eyes went wide as a the blade of a sword punched through his chest from behind. Jaskier stared with wide eyes as Geralt pushed Doldir's body off his weapon. He whirled the blade as shots rang out, deflecting the bullets with the metallic clang of a bell being rung. Jaskier slumped against Vaz as relief flooded him, leaving him feeling lightheaded. He ignored the screams of the men behind him that cried out before suddenly going silent.

“Hey, stay with me,” Vaz said, his voice tight with worry. Jaskier mumbled his way through a song, his voice slurred and quiet as he felt a tingling in his shoulder. Were they in the Wood? He couldn't feel the net of discomfort that usually kept him trapped while in Tech and it was clear that magic was curling around the wound. And then Geralt was there gathering him in. Jaskier pressed his face into the Witcher's neck, whimpering in relief. The sting in his shoulder was already abating and he sighed, breathing the horsepinesweat scent of the other man in. He hadn't been sure he'd ever see him again. 

“Where the hell did you come from?” Vaz asked from somewhere to their left. Geralt's hand prodded at the blood soaked cloth at Jaskier's shoulder. Vaz hissed. “Careful with him he's. . .woah.” 

“He'll be fine,” Geralt said as he pulled the torn fabric away to to look at the wound. “Within an hour, it will just be a scar. You didn't see anything.” 

Jaskier looked up at Geralt's hard tone and saw him glaring at Vaz, who seemed spooked.

“Geralt, he's using magic inside the Tech. He's not even bleeding anymore. It's like the wound is days old instead of just minutes.”

“And you're going to forget about it,” Geralt said meaningfully. “Put whatever you want in your report, but leave him out of it.” 

“They already know I found him in the lab. What am I supposed to tell Stellan?”

“Stellan will understand, but I don't want Dijkstra finding out about this.” 

Vaz's mouth shut with a hard click. He seemed shocked by the name and Geralt huffed. 

“I'm not just an ancient fossil who ignores what's going on at court. 'Sigi' and I go back quite a ways.” The last was said with a heavy note of sarcasm.

“You're trusting me to cover for you. And for him.”

“If I thought you and Stellan couldn't keep it to yourselves, I'd leave you behind as an unfortunate casualty.”

“Hey.” Jaskier thumped a fist weakly against Geralt's chest. “No threatening to murder my friends,” he mumbled. 

“What about him?” Vaz asked finally as he indicated Ferrant who was standing by the SUV with a glazed expression on his face. There was a spatter of blood on his cheek and his eyes weren't focusing properly.

Geralt glanced over and regarded him coolly. “Is he responsible for any of this?”

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt's wrist and he felt the other man's muscles tense under his fingers “Don't kill him.” Jaskier spared a contemptuous glance for that man he'd grown up thinking was his cousin. “Grant him mercy. Let the City Magistrates decide what to do with him. I'm sure they've gotten more lenient about their stance on genetic manipulation over the years.” 

While he wouldn't be given a death sentence, he'd never see the light of day again if he was found guilty. Ferrant paled and looked like he was about ready to bolt, but a Jeep pulled up behind the SUV before he could decide what to do. Stellan and Brett got out with their guns drawn, their eyes taking in everything in moments. They were dressed in full tactical gear and it looked really odd to Jaskier. 

Vaz nodded and held up a thumb drive in his hand. “We got it.”

Brett moved forward and pushed Ferrant up against the SUV to cuff his hands behind his back. The movement seemed to snap him out of his shock and he started calling for his lawyer. 

Stellan moved in close, his lip curling in disgust. “According to the Talgar Convention, you don't get one. Genetic manipulation and unlicensed human research is in direct violation of the treaty. We'd been within our rights to put a bullet in your head right here.”

“Then you should be arresting that piece of mutant filth,” Ferrant spat. “All Witchers should executed!”

Stellan just nodded at the Jeep and Brett shoved Ferrant forward and manhandled him into the back. Stellan came over to where Jaskier was sitting on the ground leaning against Geralt. “I'm so sorry you got dragged into this mess.”

“Apparently I've been part of this mess my whole life,” Jaskier said as he flexed his shoulder carefully. It still ached.

“It's all on here.” Vaz got up and held up the thumb drive but paused before handing it over. He glanced uncomfortably at Jaskier. “How much do you know?”

“Enough to guess what's on there,” Jaskier said his tone low. “Is it the whole file, including the photos of me and my mom?”

Vaz's lips thinned as he nodded. “We could. . .” He blew out a breath. “He should be punished and we need the evidence to do that, but it's private. We could bury it. We could bury all of it.”

Jaskier thought about it for a moment. Did he really want to hide it all and make it go away like a bad memory? Even as he had the thought, he knew that he couldn't do that. 

“No. I don't want it to happen to anyone else.”

Vaz nodded and turned to hand the thumb drive to Stellan. “They fucked him up when he was just a baby.”

“Was there anybody else down there?” Jaskier asked.

Stellan took the drive and tucked it into an inner pocket on his vest. “Toby and Becker entered through the southeast stairwell and they're clearing the facility. They picked up Dr. Kayden and his assistant when they were trying to get out, but said they haven't found anyone else yet. It looks like the repair crew bolted when the alarm went off.” 

Vaz knelt by the bodies behind them, turning them over one by one and Jaskier looked away.

“Marsh is over here,” Vaz said, his tone clinical and clipped. “We'll have to do a full head count, but I think everyone else on the list is accounted for.” He broke off at the thundering snap of a portal opening, and all of them jumped.

“I don't have all day, Geralt. Are you finished?” Yennefer sounded annoyed and bored as she stepped through. “Well, this is. . .interesting. When the my spell found you, I thought you'd crossed the border into the Wood already.” 

“What the fuck!?” Vaz stared at the portal with wide eyes. “There's no way.”

Yennefer eyed him balefully. “Your friends are charming, as ever Darling.”

“We need to leave,” Geralt told her. 

“Of course. At your service,” she said, her tone snide and condescending. “It's not like I had anything else to do today.” She stalked off through the portal with a huff.

“Geralt.” Stellan looked at him and something unspoken was passing between them, but Jaskier wasn't sure what it was. 

“I know. But it was going to happen eventually. You've already seen the signs.”

“The Time of the Sword and Axe is nigh,” Vaz murmured.

“What?” Jaskier looked up at him in alarm, as he remembered the madman that had been raving on the corner in Ard Carraigh. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Vaz quickly shook his head. “It's just a stupid superstition and prophesies are bullshit.”

“Come on.” Geralt gathered Jaskier in his arms and lifted him. His tone was gruffer than usual for some reason. “Yennefer won't hold the portal open forever.”

“Wait. One last thing,” Jaskier said as he looked over at Stellan. “Essi Daven. She's a friend of mine.”

Stellan tiled his head. “She's the one who booked your ticket with the caravan?”

“Could you check on her? Tell her I'm okay? She doesn't know about any of this.” He swallowed hard. “She thinks I'm dead.” Jaskier's heart clenched at the thought of her grieving for him and he hated leaving her behind.

“We can do that.” Turning to Geralt, Stellan nodded. “Leave word in Tretogor if you need to reach me. Things are changing.”

Geralt just grunted and headed towards the portal. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and braced himself. He knew what to expect this time and it wasn't nearly as painful, but staying conscious seemed to be too much effort, and he felt himself going limp in Geralt's arms before blacking out completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see a few flaws in my story now that we're getting toward the conclusion. After reading the comments, I realize that I've been fairly vague about Jaskier's abilities. This is because I haven't fleshed them out in detail as much as I should have. Jaskier and the reader are in the dark about what he can do, but I shouldn't be. I should know exactly how it all works so I can describe it in the story. Thank you all so much for all the comments and observations. I love seeing how people interpret what's happening.
> 
> Anyway, Jaskier isn't really giving off any kind of pulse and it's not specifically his magic or his Elven blood that's breaking things. He's singing and the trees in the Wood hear him because he's a Bard. (This is why the forest outside Ard Carraigh moved in his direction and why the Leshen liked him.) So it's the Wood itself encroaching on the city that's making the electronics and technology fail. Jaskier is just speeding up the process and he's acting as a catalyst. It's kind of like a mini conjunction where the Wood is clashing with the technology in the city. Hopefully, that makes sense. I wish I could have laid all that out in the story cohesively so it fit, but I don't think I had a clear idea myself until some of these last chapters were posted. 
> 
> Writing and posting this story has been a joy and and a wonderful learning experience. Thank you all for sticking with me until the end.


	30. Into the Wolf's Den

When Jaskier woke this time, he was warm and comfortable. Curling up under the thick furs, he hid his face under the covers and breathed in Geralt's scent. The room was practically bathed in it. Peering out from the blankets, he saw a large fireplace along one wall with a banked fire keeping the room warm. Geralt's empty sword case was leaning against the wall next to a stand holding the steel and silver blades Jaskier had seen before along with two others. Was this Geralt's room? 

Jaskier sat up and found that he was wearing a black tunic and trousers that were a bit too large for him. He fingered the fabric of Geralt's shirt and smiled before looking around. A large tapestry hung on the wall next to the bed depicting an orchard in full bloom. There was a large armoire against the wall at the foot of the bed next to a low bookshelf holding several old books with worn covers like they'd been handled often. Sitting on top of the low shelves neatly in a small stand that looked like it was designed for the purpose, was Jaskier's lute. He got out of bed and sank ankle deep into a thick, burgundy rug that protected his bare feet from the chill of the flagstone floor. 

He went over and stroked his fingers lovingly over the lute strings, listening to them sing softly. His pack was sitting on the floor next to the shelves and he frowned as he dug through it. His silver gray outfit was apparently lost to him. Who knows what Ferrant and his men had done with it. And the blue doublet and trousers were still in shambles. No matter how much he learned about sewing, he was fairly certain they were a lost cause. Even Elihal would probably have difficulty resurrecting them. But on a chair by the fireplace, there was a folded set of clothes. Jaskier pulled off Geralt's shirt and examined the bullet wound. The scar was pink and puckered and he rotated his shoulder to test his range of motion. The muscle pulled a little like it was stiff, but it didn't feel restrictive. He'd gotten extremely lucky.

Jaskier picked up the forest green shirt and pulled it on. The hem was a little long, but it would do. His brows rose at the lined leather pants that had woven leather panels along the top of the thighs and thin leather lacing up the outside seams. These were a little big as well, but at least they'd stay up when the ties were in place. But the boots fit well and they were warm. 

A look out of the thick glass window showed him a view of snow covered mountains and the upper courtyard of an old, crumbling keep spread below him. This must be Kaer Morhen. He headed out the door in search of Geralt and after descending a long set of stairs, he found himself in a large main room. There was a huge, double sided hearth that separated a seating area with armchairs and a large dining table, and what must be the kitchens. A man with dark hair was poking the fire when he came in. When he turned to Jaskier, warm golden cat eyes greeted him. The man smiled at him and it pulled at the deep scars on the right side of his face. 

“Are you hungry?”

Jaskier's stomach gurgled and spoke for him. He gave the man a sheepish grin. “I honestly can't remember the last time I ate anything.” 

The other man poured him a mug of water from a pitcher on the table and handed it to him. “I'm Eskel.”

“Well you're not an asshole, so I figured you weren't Lambert.”

Eskel laughed and it was a good sound. 

Jaskier grinned. “Thank the gods at least one of you has a sense of humor. I was wondering if being a Witcher made you all grumpy by default.”

“No. It's Geralt's specialty and he's always been like that.” Eskel laughed again and went through an irregular, broken opening in the brickwork that seemed to serve as the door to the kitchen. When he came back, he had a plate with an enormous ham sandwich on It that he set down on the table. Jaskier eagerly sat down and started eating. It was simple but hearty, and it tasted divine.

“So, Sleeping Beauty has finally made an appearance.” Another Witcher entered the room with a big smirk on his face. Refusing to rise to the bait, Jaskier batted his eyelashes at him. It made the other man pause and frown. Eskel chuckled from where he'd settled by the fire. Oh, this winter was going to be fun. 

Geralt came in a moment later and came straight to the table. Jaskier tilted his face up as he leaned down to kiss him, and it felt natural like it was something they did everyday. 

“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked him quietly as he sat on the bench at his side.

“Better.” His expression sobered as he remembered what had happened in Lettenhove. “How did you find me?”

“Yen was was using a tracking spell to find the charm I put in your boot. You were hidden for a while, but there was a burst of magic that led us to you.”

“You tagged me?” Jaskier balked at the idea.

Geralt merely raised a brow. “You've disappeared often enough that it became a necessity.”

Jaskier decided to let it go since it had worked out for the best. “What did you mean when you told Stellan 'it was going to happen eventually'?”

Geralt's lips thinned. “Modern cities are starting to erode and the Wood is slowly encroaching across the border. It's happening faster in northern cities for some reason.”

“That's not possible.” It seemed preposterous, but Jaskier remembered the rusted sign outside of Ard Carraigh. He'd just assumed they'd built it too close to the border, but what if that wasn't it. What if it was because the Tech was shrinking and the magic had started eating away at it?

Geralt just raised his brows and slid his hand down over Jaskier's shoulder so his thumb could rub circles over the bullet scar hidden by his shirt. 

“Right.” He'd been using magic to heal himself inside the Tech in Lettenhove. “I'm pretty sure I broke an MRI machine with magic.”

“A what?” Lambert frowned at him from across the table where he'd settled. “What the fuck is that?”

“It's a machine that creates images of the inside of the body,” Eskel said. “It's harmless, but noisy and uncomfortable.”

Lambert's lip curled. “I hate Tech. I don't trust it.” 

Jaskier wondered how Eskel knew about it but it didn't feel polite to ask. He liked him. Well, he liked both of them, really. But there was a sense of sadness emanating from him that said the knowledge came with memories that weren't pleasant. 

“But what about what Vaz said? I've heard that phrase before,” Jaskier said.

“What phrase?” Eskel asked.

“The Time of the Sword and Axe is Nigh.” All three men were quiet and didn't say anything. He was in a room full of Witchers that could take down an army of Dragons, and he'd just left them speechless. 

“It's from Ithlinne's prophesy,” a new voice said. A robust man with gray hair and a thick mustache framing his mouth came into the room from a door that led downward. Their was an air of tired dignity surrounding him. He could only be Vesemir.

“What is it about?” Jaskier asked him.

“Oh, the usual. The End of the World.” Lambert wiggled his fingers and waved his hands in a mock mystical gesture. “It's all bullshit because we're in Hell already.”

“Lambert,” Vesemir said with a tired, patient tone of someone who kept trying but knew a lost cause when he saw one.

“Oh, come on Vesemir,” Lambert said with a huff. “You can't tell me you actually believe in that shit. The Wolf Blizzard. The White Light and the Final Age, and all that. The world will keep spinning, we'll all keep killing each other, and monsters will never go out of style.”

Vesemir harrumphed in a way that put Geralt's grumpiness to shame before going into the kitchen. 

“Great job, Dumbass,” Eskel muttered. 

“What?”

“He was down in the lab,” Geralt said. His hand settled warmly on Jaskier's lower back, but Jaskier wasn't sure if Geralt was comforting him or himself. 

Lambert frowned. “If it bugs him so much, why does he keep going down there?”

Jaskier looked over at Geralt but the other man just shook his head, telling him not to ask about it. Vesemir came out with a sandwich and a mug. 

“I go to the lab to remind myself of where we came from.” Vesemir took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And it's also a reminder of why there will never be anymore of us.” He sat quietly for a moment before leaning back in his seat with his mug and turning to Jaskier. “I hope you'll excuse our lack of manners. I'm Vesemir. This is Eskel and Lambert. Geralt, you already know.”

“What about Coen? Geralt said there would be five of you.”

“He should be here in a week or two. He headed farther south than usual this year and it may take him a while to get back,” Vesemir told him. “You're welcome to stay for as long as you need, though I'm afraid we're a little short on amenities here.”

“It's wonderful. Seriously.” Though Jaskier wondered what it would be like long term. He'd never spent so much time in such an isolated place before. 

Lambert snorted. “I'll remind you that you said that when you're clawing at the walls a month from now.”

“Speaking of walls, shouldn't you be repairing one right now?” Vesemir asked him as he casually took a bite of his sandwich. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Eskel. Let's leave Geralt and his-” Lambert was cut off suddenly as Geralt's knife hit the table by his left hand, embedding itself in the wood between the ring and middle finger. Lambert's expression darkened. “Lucky shot.”

“Keep it up, and you'll both be doing laps around the valley,” Vesemir said, seemingly engrossed in his sandwich. 

Lambert left in a huff with Eskel following behind him. Jaskier looked closer at the knife and realized that it was the same one Geralt had given him back in Yspaden. He must have gotten it back from Yennefer. Jaskier tugged the knife out of the wood and handed it to him. Geralt took the blade and slid it back into the sheath at his belt.

“So how did you convince Yennefer to help you? I didn't think you two were close.”

“It doesn't matter,” Geralt said, his face closing down a bit. If Jaskier had been feeling better and if he wasn't recovering from such an ordeal, he might have pushed. But he left it alone. They'd have a lot of time to talk. They didn't need to go over everything right this moment. Finishing his food and draining the mug, Jaskier got up and Geralt led him into the kitchen so he could wash his dishes and put them away. When he was finished, Geralt pinned him against the counter and cupped his face in his hands before kissing him thoroughly. 

“You have a room.” Vesemir's quiet voice drifted in through the open hearth.

Jaskier grinned at Geralt. The other man smirked and didn't look the least bit chastised as he led him out a different door and along a back hallway that led to the stairs before ending up back in his room. As soon as the door closed, Jaskier wrapped himself around him and pulled Geralt's shirt out of his trousers so he could reach his skin. They moved back onto the bed, almost desperately making up for lost time.

*******

Later, they lay in Geralt's bed with the glow of the warm fire flickering against the walls. Jaskier was half sprawled across his body with his head resting on Geralt's shoulder. 

“So who is Stellan, really?”

“A pain in the ass caravan driver who keeps hiring me for shit jobs,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier huffed. “Dick. You know what I mean.” It was quiet long enough that he wasn't sure he was going to get an answer.

“He works for Redanian Intelligence,” Geralt said finally. “The caravan is a cover to allow him and his team to travel more freely.” 

“And Sigi?”

“Sigismund Dijkstra. Don't ever call him Sigi to his face if you ever have the misfortune of meeting him in person.”

“Why didn't you want him to know about me? I mean, aside from the obvious.” Jaskier shuddered at the though of becoming some sort of specimen. He had no idea how he'd broken the MRI or how he'd used magic inside the Tech, but given how Vaz had reacted, it was not a normal thing. Geralt's arm tightened around him, pulling him in closer. 

“You don't want him to be interested in you. While the Elves would have used your abilities for their own gains, Dijkstra would most likely sell what was left you after having you interrogated and tortured to find out what you know. Information is his trade and currency.”

“Right. I'll just stay the hell out of Redania altogether then.”

“Technically Oxenfurt is in Redania, so if you want to go to the university, you'll have to.” There was a deliberately casual tone to Geralt's voice. Like he was trying to make it sound like he didn't care. 

Jaskier shifted and propped himself up to look down at him. “Why the hell would I want to go there when I've got everything I want right here?”

Geralt blinked back at him and swallowed before his expression shifted and he raised a brow to cover his discomfort. “You will wither without an audience to cater to you ego.”

“You are such an asshole,” Jaskier muttered before leaning in to kiss him before he could say anything else. He settled against him more comfortably and took some time to explore his mouth before pulling back looking at him seriously again. “Really, I don't give a fuck about Oxenfurt. The caravan was just a means to get into the Wood. I'm happy wherever you are. And I like traveling. I'm not ready to settle down in one place yet. And classes can get fucked. I have no interest in going back to school.” Jaskier blew out a breath as he realized he'd started babbling. “I mean. If you're willing to take me with you instead of dumping me in the first village we find.” He hated how pathetic he sounded. He found himself rolled onto his back with Geralt's weight pinning him comfortably to the bed as he stared down at him with an intense expression on his face. 

“I'm not letting you out of my sight for some time.” Geralt leaned down and sealed his lips over the scar on Jaskier's shoulder, laving his tongue gently over the puckered skin. It made Jaskier's eyelids flutter as the sensation made him shudder pleasantly. Woah. Geralt huffed a chuckling laugh into his skin. “I don't think I'm letting you of this bed for a while yet either.”

“I love this plan and I'm thrilled to be a part of it,” Jaskier said breathlessly.

Loving Geralt was like weathering a storm. All strength and fury that would suddenly hush and gentle in the next moment before surging again. And Witcher stamina was a marvel. Jaskier found himself struggling to keep up which was certainly something, if he did say so himself. When they lay quietly again, drowsing in the glow of the fire as the light dimmed outside, Geralt curled up protectively behind him and held him close. 

“Did you get the Forktails?” Jaskier asked him as he watched the low flames in the hearth flicker over the coals.

Geralt grunted and ran his hand lazily along Jaskier's hip. “Eventually. I didn't get back until the next day.” And then he'd returned to find Jaskier missing. That must have sucked.

“Was Malcolm okay? He tried to help.”

“He and the rest of the town were fine. Just angry. I sent a pigeon when we got here.” He pressed his lips to the spot just behind Jaskier's ear. “He was worried about you.”

Jaskier wondered if Geralt was really talking about Malcolm or if he was referring to himself in a detached way. He snuggled deeper into the embrace, enjoying the closeness he'd been wanting since nearly the beginning. He'd be content to spend the rest of winter right here.

“I'm going to teach you how to use that knife,” Geralt said after a moment.

Jaskier groaned. “Really? I thought we already had this conversation.”

“While you're past may finally be behind you, I doubt that will be the last time you get in trouble. I'd like you to have a better chance of getting yourself out of it when I'm not there.”

“Ever the optimist,” Jaskier murmured, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it. Geralt's finger traced the edge of his ear and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply. He had no idea where they were going to go from here. They'd spend the winter in Kaer Morhen, but then they'd leave in the spring. Jaskier fully intended to continue his work to improve Geralt's image and keep writing songs. He also looked forward to seeing more of the continent as they traveled. But for now, he'd stay right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for this story. Thank you so much for reading. Bookmark the series if you'd like a notification when the next story comes out. I'm more than halfway done writing it and I will start posting it when it's done. (It's completely plotted out and I already have an outline for the third story. I just need to write it all down.)
> 
> I hope I didn't leave too many loose ends. I tried to tie them all up or reference them for future development, but I usually miss at least one thing. 
> 
> I can't believe I managed to wait until I was finished with this one before I started posting chapters. But it was worth it because I kept going back and tweaking details, sometimes all the way back in the beginning. I've enjoyed writing this so much.
> 
> I started working on this when I first went into isolation back in March and it's been a wonderful way to work through everything that's been going on. I'm currently back at work full time now which is part of why progress has slowed a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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